


When the World Comes Out of Hiding

by AvistisLights



Series: When the World Comes Out of Hiding [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Implied Kidnapping, I’ll add more tags as I go, Mild swearing (Tommy’s here what do you expect), There’s angst but it gets better I promise, This is going to be a long journey, Wilbur lacks communication skills, also the chapters are kinda long, it’s not Wilbur though, i’ll add in more character tags as they’re introduced, i’m planning for thirteen acts, please be patient, you’ll probably guess who the main focus is on during the second act
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27811018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvistisLights/pseuds/AvistisLights
Summary: Wilbur was supposed to die young. Being an orphan was a tough life to live, and this is something the gods knew well. Each year without fail, one person's life would be traded out in order to keep someone else from dying when it was their time. More often than not, it would be the life of an orphan that was exchanged. They were expendable. Wilbur was no different. His death was ordered and the deed was carried out, but there are always consequences for dying before one was supposed to. Perhaps he was lucky, or unlucky if you saw it that way. On the day of his death, his heart ceased to beat for all of two hours.
Relationships: All platonic baby
Series: When the World Comes Out of Hiding [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200704
Comments: 115
Kudos: 235





	1. Act I. When Your World Starts to Crumble

Feeling your heart restart in your chest is not a good feeling, Wilbur has learnt. It takes all of two seconds before he's hyperventilating, mind screaming at his lungs to circulate oxygen through his system before he drops dead. He distantly notes how chilly it looks with the snow falling down, feeling grateful that the cold doesn't seem to be affecting him.

He wants to stand, to find Phil and ask to go home early from the weekly patrol, but his body isn't cooperating with him. Not like it ever has whenever this happens. He breathes out, breath clouding the air, and finally comes to the conclusion that not feeling cold in this situation is probably a bad thing.

He can feel himself shivering though, so maybe he is cold? 

He should go home.

The problem is moving, something he can't seem to do. He should probably get someone to come pick him up.

Since Phil is out of the question because of all people, Wilbur would rather not have him connect the dots, and Tommy would be too annoying to talk to (not to mention would be no help at all), Wilbur's only real option left is Techno. As annoying as it is to contact his brother, he's the safest choice.

He brings a hand sluggishly to his pocket, gripping the phone that had been haphazardly stuffed inside, and groans at how low the percentage is. 7% isn't a lot to work with, so he'd have to make his message short.

He lets the finger ID do it's job before pulling up his contacts. He selects Techno's before mulling briefly on what to do next. A call would kill his phone, so a text maybe?

He decides on just that, sending his older brother a single text. It's one word, and maybe gets the point across.

_Cold._

He can't decide if it's a lie or not, but he hopes it isn't. Techno wouldn't be happy with a false alarm. He wonders if it even concerned him, because although he isn't like Tommy who spams everyone the weirdest of things, it's not like the word cold would spark much concern. Techno's probably cold too, seeing as he was still on patrol as well.

A small thump rings in his ears, and he realizes that he's dropped his phone into the snow. That’ll probably end up ruining it. Phil might not be too happy with buying another, but Wilbur found himself not caring about that all too much.

He finds his hand following the actions of his phone, coming to rest on the blanket of white.

It's odd, feeling snow without the cold that comes with it. Now that it's simply a texture and nothing else. He grips it in his hands, trying to figure out how to describe it to himself. But it's like a whole new experience, nothing to compare it to at all. It fascinates him, if he's being completely honest.

He doesn't really know how long he's been here at this point, and it feels like a contradictory mix of forever and only a few seconds. But it is relieving when he sees a brief glimpse of pink come around the corner.

He feels the vibrations more than he hears his new companion speak. It's a brief, fearful sound. But that doesn't exactly seem right, because Techno doesn't get scared. His patron god is the Blood God, if he got scared easily it would almost be a disgrace. Maybe this person isn't Techno after all. Surely there are other people who seem pink at a glance.

But he gets a good look at the stranger when they come dashing closer, and at this point he's certain it's Techno.

It's odd when Techno pulls him into an embrace, because Techno isn't a touchy-feely kinda person, but he can't find it in himself to care. Because the contact is nice, and Techno feels warm. He's always been warm, part of being an otherworld hybrid Phil had always said.

Speaking of the man, he almost jolts in surprise when Phil lands beside the two of them. Part of him reels back in what could only be described as terror at the silhouette of a halo over his head, but the rest of his mind is transfixed on the wings attached to Phil's back.

Phil never usually brought out his wings, said it painted a target on his back in a city like this. To the rest of the world, he was human. So it had been a long time since he'd seen them. It left him just as transfixed as the first time he'd seen them.

The vibrations of the two talking are ringing in his ears now, and Wilbur just wants to shut them out. But part of him wants to be aware of what they're talking about, so he tries. He doesn't know if that part could maybe hear what they're saying, or they're just translating from the mess of sound waves that come crashing into him.

He startles when he's taken out of Techno's hug, and he feels an odd sense of sadness at the fact. But he knows Techno doesn't like hugging too much, so he accepts the fact that the older boy doesn't want to hold onto him for too long. He misses the warmth, yeah, but he also misses the affection in general. When he’s like this, he'd much rather be held by Techno than Phil. And oh yeah, he's being held by Phil, isn't he.

That's a good thing, right? Or is it bad, he can't exactly tell.

Part of him screams that it's a very bad thing, but he's once again focused on the white wings protruding from the man's back. He likes the way the light of the sun reflects off of the feathers in a mesmerizing pattern, like it would if the sun were glinting on the waves.

It's still beautiful, even as it becomes more hazed together, a symphony of golden yellow and pure white mixing together and becoming one. It's like the night lamp Phil had gotten him after he'd panicked during his first night in the man's house because of the dark.

Maybe it'll keep back the dark encroaching his vision, if it were like the night lamp.

He can feel Phil hold him closer, murmur something to him. Then there's a jolt of movement and the wind is hitting his skin, which is odd in the same sense that the snow was because it no longer feels cold. It's another sensation he can't really describe, but he likes it. Because he likes the wind when it's a summer day that they spend together having a picnic on the hill, something that cools him off in the heat. He likes the wind when it doesn't make him feel cold.

He focuses back on Phil's wings, not entirely sure when his attention had shifted away from them. He wants to take in every detail about them, because he knows he won't see them for a long time after this. And although he likes them, he feels tired. And Phil's always told him to go take a nap when he's tired, so he'll take a nap. He claims that sleep is important, especially for children. Tommy would always rebuke that he's not a child, and Techno would monotonously chime in that he'd already reached the age of eighteen. Phil would then claim that they'd always be his children, and it would make Tommy's ears go red in embarrassment. There would be banter for a while after that, and a warmth in Wilbur's chest that only grew whenever he realized that this was his family, and his home.

He trusted Phil to bring him home ( _did he?_ ), so he let his eyes slip closed.

* * *

Techno was usually a calm person. He was the Champion of the Blood God, he needed to be calm, ready at every second of every day. That didn't mean he never had times when his bloodlusting nature took over, but Phil was usually there to sort that out. The man was never upset when that happened, claiming it was simply amplified due to being an otherworld hybrid- something he couldn't control.

But he was normally calm.

Right now, though, he was almost at his wits end with worry. Their weekly patrol had ended two hours ago, and there was still no sign of Wilbur.

Scenarios ran through his head. Wilbur could have been killed by a rogue spirit, or taken away by some of the trickster fae that lingered in the city streets. He could've been kidnapped for ransom, and Phil simply wasn't letting him know. There were so many things that could happen to him.

It was no secret that Wilbur was probably the weakest in the family. Techno worked as the Champion for the Blood God, and was a hybrid from the otherworld. Phil was a high ranking angel with some of the purest wings, and Tommy was a spirit of chaos that didn't quite know how to reign in his powers. Wilbur, well, Wilbur was just a human. No powers, no special training from a deity, no wings, just human.

And from what he'd learnt, humans worst enemy were themselves. They'd target each-other in petty squabbles that could turn into wars if you looked at someone wrong. Wilbur wasn't safe from the idiocy of his race. Because even if he was better than most humans in regards to the fact that he wouldn't pick a fight unprovoked, they would still target him.

Even if he didn’t like to, Techno would admit to the fact that he was terrified a hundred times over if it meant knowing that his brother was safe. 

He jolted at the sound of his phone chiming, demanding his attention. He would've ignored it in favour of brainstorming what abandoned property kidnappers would use if not for the fact that it was Wilbur's tone. In that moment he was so, so grateful that Phil insisted they have special notification sounds for each other. 

He snatched his phone from its resting spot on the coffee table and looked at the single notification from Wilbur. 

_Cold._

He quickly turned to Tommy, the boy having been watching him work until he grew too bored. "Tommy," he nudged the twelve year old. "Tommy, go get Phil."

"Huh?" The questioning sound that left Tommy's mouth made Techno all the more anxious. The sooner they found Will, the better. Phil could probably help. But he needed Tommy to just go get him. 

"Why'd ya need him, Big Man? You figure something out?" Tommy perked up at the idea. Because it wasn't just Techno who was worried sick about the missing brunet, everyone was. Phil was, Tommy was, their friends were, and even some general acquaintances. 

"Yeah, I did. Get Phil. Now." He could tell that Tommy had questions, and he was glad that the younger had enough common sense to not voice them and instead do as he was told. For once. 

It felt like it was all too soon when Phil came rushing downstairs with Tommy in tow and they were bundled up to head out the door. 

Techno didn't quite remember telling the man about the text, but he assumed he did because Phil had ordered him to go look around from the ground while he scoured from above. They’d be searching opposite sides of the city in order to cover as much ground as possible. Tommy was to hold down the fort and play communicator. If Techno found Wilbur, he'd text Tommy, who in turn would spark off a magic signal for Phil. The man never took his phone with him while flying, because the chances of it falling out were too likely. Since Techno didn't have any magic to speak of, Tommy was the only one who could contact him. 

He'd been searching for what he could only assume was fifteen minutes before he caught a whiff of blood in the air. Normally he would have ignored the smell in a city as violent as this, but paranoia made him consider every possibility that could have happened to Wilbur. So he ducked around a corner where the smell seemed to be coming from, and felt his heart catapult out of his chest. 

There, blanketed in snow, lay a familiar waft of brown hair surrounded by blood. 

Techno let out a curse as he fumbled for his phone, voice panicked even to his own ears. He needed to text Tommy. He needed to text Tommy. He needed to-

Oh god he needed to make sure Wilbur was even alive. 

He rushed over, hooves clattering against the pavement under the snow. He shot off a quick text to Tommy ( _found, help_ ) before pocketing his phone lest he end up dropping it. 

Techno knelt down in the snow beside Wilbur, hand reaching out for a pulse. It was odd, he'd never really done the action before. Whenever he killed someone, he trusted that they were already dead, or at least would die before help arrived. And he'd never cared too much for the unfortunate ones he would stumble across during patrol. He'd get an ambulance over and be gone before they could spot him. 

He'd never needed to make sure someone was alive. His job was to make sure people were dead. 

Feeling Wilbur's pulse thump rhythmically, if not a bit slow beneath his fingers made Techno slump in relief. Wilbur was alive, that was good. 

What wasn't good was how cold he felt to the touch. 

Techno pulled him close, brushing the snow off of his form as best he could while also checking for whatever injury had caused him to bleed so much. The amount of blood in the area was worrying, he'd need to stop Wilbur from bleeding out. 

But no matter how hard he looked, there wasn't a single injury on Wilbur's body. There was a tear in his shirt over his heart, but no wound in the skin where the blow would have landed. Wilbur was lucky that he’d probably dodged back in time, seeing as his assailant knew where to aim. 

He let himself relax, simply pulling the freezing form of his brother closer. He'd always run at a higher temperature than humans, so he supposed it may help warm him up. At least until Phil arrived. 

A buzzing in his pocket sounded, and Techno carefully maneuvered his phone into his hand to check what Tommy had sent. 

_Need location. ___

____

Right, okay, he could do that. Looking out to the road, he observed the area for any street signs. None. That was a problem, seeing as he didn't want to leave Wilbur to go look for one. 

____

_Dunno._

____

He pocketed his phone again after sending the text, ignoring the sound of Tommy spamming him. He shifted Wilbur in his grip once again, praying that Phil would manage to find them soon. Techno stood out against the snow, so he shouldn't be too hard to spot from above. All he had to do was be patient. 

____

A thought hit him, and he pulled out his phone again. He felt dumb, but he wasn’t fully adapted to using a phone quite yet. Even if he’d been using it for years, some part of it still felt off to him. He opened up Maps before screenshotting his location. He sent the image to Tommy, ignoring the wave of texts that soon followed. From the brief glance he got of them, they were questions about Wilbur.

____

____

To his credit, Phil didn't take much longer to arrive after that. 

____

Techno could feel Wilbur flinch in his arms at the loud landing Phil made, which was an improvement from his earlier unresponsiveness. 

____

The man took one glance at the blood soaked snow and the figure of Wilbur in his arms before Techno knew he had begun to assume the worst. 

____

"Phil, he isn't hurt, just freezing cold." The monotone air of his voice wavered slightly, testament to his worry. 

____

"Techno, what's with the blood?" The question left Phil's lips, and Techno grimaced. That was something he didn't have an answer to, or even the slightest clue on what the answer could be. 

____

"I don't know, Phil. It was like this when I got here."

____

The man crouched down to examine Wilbur. There was a fondness in his eyes that no amount of worry or dread could conceal. 

____

"Techno, text Tommy to prepare the heated blanket and some hot packs. I'm going to fly him home to get him there as fast as possible. I take it you'll be fine getting back on your own?" While saying this, Phil had already managed to scoop Wilbur out of his grasp. The man stood, wings stretching out. 

____

"Yeah." Techno's reply was as brief as usual, the undertone of worry in his monotone voice conveying more than words could. 

____

Phil tucked Wilbur closer to his body, murmuring a small reassurance to the brunet before he arched his wings and took off into the sky.

____

Neither Techno nor Phil truly knew why he could see the man's wings while they were cloaked. They were normally invisible unless one had a spark of magic like Tommy did, or the viewer was close to death. Phil theorized that perhaps Otherworld creatures all had a semblance of magic at their core, and hybrids had an off chance at inheriting it. Though it was plausible seeing the lack of research on the subject due to the minuscule contact they had with the Otherworld, it would disprove earlier theories about the effect of magic there. 

____

Techno would admit that it took him more than a few minutes to get up out of the snow. The front of his pants were wet where some of it had melted, and it made the following investigation a bit uncomfortable. 

____

He let out a breath, and focused on the presence of the Blood God that resided in him. 

____

Everyone who contracted under a god gained an aspect of said deity. For those who contracted under the Fire God, they would gain an aptitude for that aspect. This was seen as your god accepting you as one of their own and lending you part of their presence for as long as you remained loyal to them. 

____

As a Champion, Techno had a much deeper understanding of his aspect than a normal follower of the Blood God did. 

____

So, he mused silently as he looked at the bloody scene around him, this was mildly concerning. There was enough blood to safely presume that whoever had been injured didn't last for very long. This left the question on where the body had went. There were no tracks indicating that someone had fled from the scene, though perhaps the fresh snow had simply covered them. 

____

He thought back to the small amount of snow that had gathered on Wilbur's body before calculating how much snow he would need to brush off in order to get the scene back to how it was when the ordeal had taken place. It wasn't too much, but it was tedious work, so Techno was not looking forward to it. 

____

First, he started uncovering the areas where it was most likely someone would have fled in the direction of. When that revealed nothing, he moved on to uncovering the rest of the snow. By the time he'd cleared all the snow in the area, even past the point he'd first assumed would have the tracks, he came up empty handed. 

____

In a last ditch attempt, he focused on his connection to the surrounding blood before trying to locate any more in the surrounding areas. Absolutely nothing. 

____

No creature could cover their tracks that well, he was certain of that much. But that simply left him confused. Where was the body? No one could survive loosing that much blood.

____

He let out a sigh, letting the sound of disappointment be carried through the air. 

____

With his search coming to a dead end, he decided to go home.

____

* * *

____

Wilbur was warm. It wasn't the comforting sort of warmth one would feel on a nice summers day, nor the kind of warmth you'd get from sleeping in until the sun hit your face. It was an overbearing, suffocating warmth that came from using five blankets in the middle of a heatwave. 

____

He let out a vague sound of annoyance, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. 

____

He maneuvered out from underneath whatever was placed on top of him, relaxing once he could feel the air. It was like he could finally breathe after being underwater for just a bit too long. He could feel himself doze briefly, but there was an annoying sliver of consciousness that kept him awake, part of him that kept repeating that he should be alarmed. But he didn't want to deal with that, so he simply ignored it and hoped that it would go away long enough for him to slip back into the peaceful rest he'd had prior. 

____

It took under two minutes before he was shivering, yearning for the once unwelcomed heat that he'd forsaken prior.

____

However much he wanted the warmth back though, his desire to remain in his spot overpowered the urge. So he simply remained there, shivering in silence before finally falling back into a restless sleep.

____

* * *

____

There were voices the next time Wilbur woke. They were murmured whispers, too faint to decipher, but loud enough that he could hear them beyond his sleep induced haze. 

____

The monotone voice was soothing to listen to, a steady constant that felt familiar. It reminded him of the colour pink, ivory tusks and whispers of the Otherworld. It also reminded him of blood, of seeing a halo where one wasn't supposed to be seen. But his mind didn't seem to like those memories, so he didn't dwell on them. 

____

The other voice was soothing in its own right. It reminded him of late nights drinking tea, the calm after the storm. Striped bucket hats, a fond joy and fatherly exasperation. A vibrant white with flecks gold, stained by pink, blonde and brown.

____

He let the feeling of nostalgia thrum through him, lulling him back to sleep alongside the melody of familiar voices.

____

* * *

____

This time when he woke, Wilbur was more aware. 

____

He was on his bed, the patchwork quilt Phil had given to him on his first night draped around his body. Wilbur had instantly claimed it and attached himself to the blanket as if it were a promise. A promise of protection, of finally having a home. A promise that Phil wouldn't leave him behind or chase him away. He hadn't let go of the thing for a week until Phil had to pry it from his arms to wash it. It had taken a month after that before Wilbur had felt safe enough to leave it in his room occasionally, and a full year until he wasn't quite as attached to it. 

____

The thing was much more worn than when he'd first received it, testament to all it had been through during the eight years he'd owned it for so far. It had been torn by a Shade that had broken into the house while seeking refuge thinking it was empty, and startled when Wilbur had sleepily confronted it. That section had been stitched back together by Phil once the man came to learn that his tears were caused by the rip instead of pain. It's corner had been singed when Tommy had knocked a lit candle on it when the power had gone out, not noticing for a few seconds because he was still focused on chasing Techno after he had stolen one of his toys. Later, his shrill scream of panic would wake Wilbur from his nap in which he would find his beloved blanket on fire and promptly freak out. Techno ended up defusing the situation by dumping a glass of water on the small flame, putting it out. 

____

It had been through a lot, and was still one of his most treasured possessions, the other being the slightly beat up guitar Wilbur had pestered Techno into buying at a garage sale they'd gone to after the older boy had earned his monthly allowance. 

____

Said guitar was hung delicately on the wall by the door, waiting faithfully to be played when needed. 

____

Wilbur noticed with an edge of irritation that his throat felt dry, and he looked to the nightstand for the glass of water he'd always leave there when he turned in for the night. He found no such item, and it confused him before he shrugged it off as a moment of exhausted forgetfulness. It was only a minor inconvenience, he'd just go get a cup from the kitchen. 

____

Destination in mind, Wilbur exhaled before pushing himself up with shaky arms. He swung his legs off of the bed, ignoring how the hardwood floor shot spikes of cold up from his bare feet. Gathering himself for a moment with a stretch and a yawn, he stood. 

____

There was a sudden bout of wooziness that came from standing up too fast, and Wilbur had to grip the bedpost for a moment before he shuffled his way to the door. It occurred to him that he hadn't bothered to check what time it was when he woke up, so he was careful to open the door as quietly as he could in case everyone was still asleep. 

____

He needn't have bothered, since the moment the door swung open he was assaulted by a sprinting Tommy. He felt his body lurch backwards before he was no longer standing upright and instead sitting on the ground with the rambunctious blonde in his lap. He reasoned carefully that if Tommy was awake, everyone else was, because the devilish fiend was in the habit of annoying everyone awake if he was the first one up. And if he wasn't the first one up, than he was the last one up, since everyone would rather postpone having the blonde disrupt the carefully crafted peace that came about when he wasn't awake. 

____

That brought forth the question of why he was still asleep if Tommy was awake, but he ignored it in favour of checking if the boy was alright after the brief fall. Even if the annoying brat had used him as a cushion. 

____

"Tommy?" He grimaced at the rasp in his voice, and was reminded of why he had bothered to get out of bed in the first place. "Are you alright?"

____

The young chaos spirit almost wailed in his arms at the question, and flung Wilbur into a brief second of panic before the boy decided to respond to his question. 

____

"I should be asking _you_ that!" The exclamation was accompanied by Tommy tightening his arms around the brunet in some semblance of a hug.

____

Now sure, Wilbur _had_ been the one to take the brunt of the small fall, but normally Tommy would laugh in the face of whoever insinuated that they had taken more damage than he had. It was all in good jest, and Wilbur would be lying if he said that the boy's unfiltered laughter wasn't contagious. But this only left Wilbur even more confused with the statement, because Tommy wasn't remotely sorry for any chaos he incurred. 

____

"What do you mean?" As the question left his lips, he tried to think back on anything that would be cause for concern. 

____

Yesterday hadn't been all too eventful, the morning had passed by without incident, then patrol had gone on like normal other than-

____

_Oh._

____

Concern is practically radiating off of Tommy in waves by this point, and Wilbur doesn't have any time to stop the boy before he calls out for Phil. 

____

Tommy still had him clutched in a death grip on the floor when Phil arrived, and he wouldn't admit it but Wilbur was still checking over the boy to make extra sure that he hadn't been hurt in the tumble. The man takes one glance at the scenario in front of him before there's a sigh leaving his lips, one of exasperation or relief is something that Wilbur can't exactly tell.

____

"Tommy, what have I told you about being careful around Wilbur? And Wilbur, what are you doing up? You should be resting." Phil scoops Tommy out of Wilbur's lap, skillfully untangling the younger's arms from around his waist in a way that came from years of practice. He sets him back down on the floor a moment later, before the blonde had any time to squirm in the man's grasp. 

____

Wilbur knows that something is wrong by the way Phil looks at him expectantly. It's not the same in the way when he wants Wilbur to do something, it's like he's expecting a certain clue to come to light by questioning him. It makes him feel a little nervous, and he decides to just not mention the reason he was on unofficial bed rest. It wasn’t like he particularly wished to talk about it anyway. 

____

"I was thirsty and I guess I didn't put a glass of water on the nightstand when I went to bed." Nothing in the sentence is a direct lie, so it helps him feel a bit less guilty. But the explanation causes Phil to look at Tommy, and Wilbur can't help but still feel bad at the concern dancing between the two. 

____

"You forgot it when you went to bed last night?" Phil questions, as if looking for clarification. 

____

"I mean I guess so, I was probably too tired to remember it when I turned in for the night." That was less truthful, he admitted briefly to himself.

____

Tommy shifts uncomfortably, and although it isn't obvious, Wilbur's learnt to read his younger brother like an open book. The blonde looks over to Phil, who seems understandably worried with the explanation. 

____

"Wilbur," the man begins, sounding a bit hesitant. "Wilbur, don't you remember?" There's an edge of desperation to his tone, and Wilbur wonders what he's been left out on. 

____

He decides to play along with the amnesia plot he'd suddenly been thrust into. He doesn't know why, but maybe it’s the way Phil is questioning him like if he says the wrong thing something terrible will happen.

____

"Remember what? You two are acting odd. Did something happen while I was asleep?" He could back out of the lie, pretend he only just remembered what had happened. But he doesn't, and instead digs himself deeper into the dirt every time he opens his mouth. 

____

"Wilbur, you were..." Phil trails off before exhaling deeply. "You were attacked during patrol two days ago. We found you in the snow, hypothermic and barely responsive." There's a pained edge to his tone, betraying how beaten up over the situation he was. And Wilbur realizes that to him, he'd nearly lost his son that day. 

____

"I.. two days ago? But I remember going to bed yesterday, it doesn't line up." He works off of the half truth he’d told earlier, the little story becoming more and more of a lie the longer he talked.

____

"So you really don't remember what happened.." Phil sighed, before crouching down to Wilbur's level. “We found you around two hours after patrol ended, and you fell unconscious when I was flying you home. You didn’t wake up at all, even when we got your body temperature back up. You woke up a few times yesterday, though you weren’t exactly lucid.” 

Phil looks directly at him, and Wilbur can’t help but squirm slightly. He’d never really dealt well with direct eye contact, so it was rare that Phil did so.

“Look, if you start to remember anything about it, let me know immediately. We think that your assailant is linked to why I came to earth in the first place."

____

Wilbur's eyes widened, and his thoughts flew a hundred miles a minute. All three of his sons knew why Phil had come. He was an angel, sent down to capture or kill a rogue Reaper that continually helped an unspecified person cheat death. Although it had been many, many years since the start of his mission, and he'd practically settled down, he'd always been on the lookout. It was partly why they did the weekly patrols. The man had resigned to simply living life like a human for the rest of his years on earth, but with a new lead available, Phil probably wouldn't hesitate to launch back into doing his job. 

____

That was a bad thing for Wilbur, because he'd learnt long ago that he couldn't exactly die, and it wasn't that hard to link Phil's mission to that issue. 

____

He'd never told the man. Of course he hadn't. He was terrified what he would do if he found out. Phil had occasionally expressed his distaste for the rogue reaper, claiming that Death shouldn't be cheated and that it was a violation of Nature for a Reaper to be aiding in the process. Although he'd never mentioned what would happen to the other factor in the equation, Wilbur knew the punishment for cheating death would be worse than a simple execution. It didn't matter if he didn't mean to cheat death multiple times, because it's not like anyone would exactly believe him if he claimed as such.

____

It would hurt, not just because of whatever punishment he would receive, but because it would be Phil who'd bring him to the gods who would decide his fate. Phil, the man that had adopted him at eight years of age, feeling bad for the brunet kid dying out on the streets. Phil, the man that stayed up with him on the nights he couldn't sleep, the both of them drinking tea and chatting about useless things. The man that had gotten him a nightlight when he was too afraid of the dark to rest, fearful that something in the shadows would snatch him out of the house, never to be seen again. Phil, who he'd come to see as a father, would be the one to betray him. 

____

And that's what would hurt the most. 

____

So he'd always kept his mouth shut about the multiple times his heart had refused to beat before miraculously starting up again. But now all that was in shambles. Because once Phil located his attacker, the ruse would be up. He'd find out that his assailant wasn't affiliated with the reaper, and it would be over for Wilbur because there was only one other option.

____

The fact that he couldn't die was always like a ticking time bomb that no one could see the timer for. It kept him on edge, but it hadn't gone off in who knows how many years, so it had been pushed to the back of his mind like it would defuse itself if he ignored it. Now, there was a semblance of a timer. Not in numbers, but in knowledge. Knowledge of the fact that it was close to going off. 

____

Because Wilbur was never the best liar, and the amnesia ruse wouldn't hold up for longer than a week at most. Even that was pushing it a bit far. 

____

Snapping back into the present, Wilbur fumbled through a reply. "You think whoever attacked me is.. is the person cheating death?" His voice was shaky, and he hoped the two would put it up to him being told he had nearly died. 

____

Phil gave a solemn nod. "They're dangerous. If they're abusing their immortality in order to harm people, then this is urgent. They need to be taken out."

____

Part of him was worried about the implications of Phil finishing his task. He wondered what would happen to Techno and Tommy. Would they be left behind without a father again? The gods would most certainly want one of their best angels back, and might not take no for an answer.

____

With a wavering steadiness, he voiced the question. "What will happen once you.. once you find them? Are you going to leave us behind?" The us part was a lie, Wilbur knew he wouldn’t be in the same group as Tommy and Techno when the truth came out.

____

Tommy's attention whipped over to Phil, eyes wide. It seemed that the Chaos Spirit hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. 

____

Wilbur forged on with the question, ignoring how small it made him feel. "Are you going to go back up to heaven and.. and.." He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't want to. He wasn't sure how well he could take it if he was the reason Phil left Techno and Tommy behind. He hugged his knees to his chest. He really didn’t want to be the reason his brothers were left without a father for a second time.

____

He startled when Phil pulled him and Tommy into an embrace, murmuring soft assurances to them. 

____

"I'll never let my job get in the way of being with you three, ever. I would fall from heaven if I had to, just to be with you. Don't _ever_ forget that."

____

He almost wanted to laugh at the lie Phil didn’t even know he was telling. If he didn't want to let his job get in the way of his family, then he wouldn't be hunting down the reaper that had made Wilbur’s life a confusing mess. Wouldn't be inadvertently betraying his own son. 

____

But for the time being, embraced in his fathers arms with Tommy pressed to his side and Techno looking on from the kitchen, he let himself believe that Phil was telling the truth. Even if they were empty promises just like an old patchwork blanket, he accepted the whispered assurances the man offered. 

____

He let himself believe that everything was fine. 

____

He let himself believe that he’d truly make it out of this alive.

____


	2. Arc I. When the Clock Runs Low

Shortly after the escapade in the hallway, Wilbur was hurried back to bed along with a glass of water. 

No matter how much he claimed he felt fine, because he just wanted everyone to stop staring at him and act _normal_ , he couldn't hide the shaking of his limbs from Phil while the man was in father mode. He was tucked in with a kiss to the forehead from Phil and a hug from Tommy before the two left him to his rest. Techno entered a minute after the other two had excused themselves from the room and simply watched him. It was a bit unnerving, but if it it helped him feel better about the whole situation, Wilbur wouldn't mind. 

But he did mind. Because it was a bit nerve wracking to see the older just.. watch him, black eyes held steady on his form. Wilbur simply tried to ignore them. 

He managed to last three minutes under the stare before he let out a sigh, turning to address his pink haired brother. 

"Techno," he called out, and watched as he snapped out of his thoughts. He inched closer to the door, probably expecting to be sent out so Wilbur could sleep. 

Wilbur shifted in the bed. Just because his body was tired didn't mean that his mind was. He didn't think he'd be falling asleep any time soon. 

"Techno, c'mere." He patted the bed, shuffling over so there was a bit more room. 

Techno jolted slightly, most likely caught off guard, before hesitantly coming closer and sitting down on the bed. His frame was stiff, anxious. He knew his brother didn't exactly like social situations where he couldn't predict what would be said, and seeing his earlier reaction to his words, Wilbur didn't exactly think this was exactly predictable. 

Wilbur reached out a hand, hesitating slightly, before grabbing Techno's own. He felt him startle slightly, but payed no mind. He brought his other hand up, repositioning Techno's hand from clutched in his own, to having his fingers on his wrist where he could feel Wilbur's pulse. 

He reclined back into the bed, letting his eyes slip closed. 

It was times like these when Wilbur felt like the oldest. All the kids in this house had some sort of trauma from the street, and as an unspoken rule, nobody mentioned their time before Phil unless it was a happy memory. 

So the past was barely brought up. 

Wilbur had ended up learning both Tommy and Techno's quirks and coping mechanisms, being a steady rock for the two when things seemed to crumble down around them. The two did the same for him.

People bonded through shared trauma, and even if none of them had even met before Phil, there was a sense of kinship between them for just that reason. Because no matter how much they fought and argued with each other like siblings were supposed to do, they were attached by the hip. 

They were a patchwork family stitched together by the promises and protection Phil provided. There would always be holes, some bigger than others, and some too small to notice. 

Techno, Wilbur had found, had many more of those holes than he or Tommy did. 

His section was mangled, torn and shredded and burnt and worn. But it was persistent, held together by iron on patches and the stitches that connected his section to everyone else's. 

If one of them left, those stitches would be torn out, and Wilbur wasn't sure Techno would fully be able to cope with that. Even if it would have to happen sooner than any of them thought, and Tommy and Phil would be left with the aftermath. But he didn’t want to let him deal with that just yet. 

So as he lay there, he let his wrist be held in Techno's grasp. The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart assuring the older that he was fine, that he was _alive_. 

Eventually, Techno eased himself into lying down. He didn't pull the brunet into an embrace of any sort, or shuffle closer, he simply kept his fingers on Wilbur's pulse.

When Techno began to doze off, Wilbur smiled before pulling the covers over his brother’s form as well. 

Phil would later find the two of them like this, both of them fast asleep. He'd coo quietly, take a picture, and leave the two to their rest.

* * *

By the next morning, and a lot of arguing later, Wilbur was allowed to wander around. Phil had placed him under unofficial house arrest though, so Techno and Tommy had taken to distracting him every time he subconsciously moved towards the front door. 

Wilbur had a tendency to leave the house for a while, for no particular reason. He didn't quite know why he did it, either. He supposed it may have to do with feeling trapped being in one place for too long. On the streets you had to be vigilant where you slept, ready to dash off at a moments notice. Sticking in one spot for too long made you predictable, an easy target. 

Old habits were hard to break, he supposed. 

He appreciated Tommy and Techno acting as impulse control for his urge to wander, as he really didn't want higher surveillance from Phil. Not only because it would take up the man's time and he really didn't want to do that, but more surveillance meant more of a chance to be found out. 

But it didn't help Wilbur from feeling the irritating combination of being antsy and bored. 

However, Phil was quite the avid fan of board games, so maybe that's how he got roped into playing monopoly with an angel, a chaos spirit, and Champion of the Blood God. Tommy of course had very little idea on how to properly play monopoly, even after the rules had been explained to them all as a refresher. He went bankrupt in the terrifying span of five turns. Wilbur noted to never let him handle finances. Ever. 

Techno was playing semi-casually, more focused on talking to Phil about the possibility of potatoes for dinner. He made off handed comments about how if his pawn were close enough, it would definitely beat Tommy's pawn in a fight since his was a dog and Tommy's was a cat. Tommy predictably took this as a challenge and moved his pawn over to where Techno's was, and forgot where it originally was in the span of a few seconds. 

Phil was surprisingly good at the game, and Wilbur was almost convinced he was cheating somehow. The man was the banker, so maybe he could've been sneaking out extra money for himself. How else could he buy all those houses without going bankrupt? Another part of him reasoned that Phil probably just had lots of practice, but he kept a sharp eye on how much money he gave himself. 

The game went to hell and back during round seven, when Tommy (who had insisted that he could keep playing) went bankrupt again, causing Techno to knock his pawn off of the board when his own passed it. That was the same round when Wilbur called Phil out on snagging excess money from the bank, and Tommy had the great idea to just rob the thing. Techno and Wilbur easily agreed; Techno because he liked the ruckus it would cause, and Wilbur because he wanted to get back at Phil for cheating. 

Phil hurried out of the room to the game closet with a smug smirk, and Wilbur almost had to wonder what he was planning. But he was too busy robbing the bank with Tommy and Techno to care. 

Turns out that he should have cared, because Phil came back with a model cop car and started chasing their pawns around the board. When he eventually caught all three of them (Tommy not going down with a fight), he pushed the monopoly board to the side and instead replaced it with a prison escape game. 

How fitting. 

Techno seemed to appreciate the joke, while Tommy did not. He claimed that he would've won in a fight against the police, and if he didn't, he'd break out of the cop car. Phil told him the equivalent of too bad so sad and forced him into playing it anyway. 

Tommy ended up annoying the other inmates to the point that they beat up his character which made him mildly upset and also very mad, so Wilbur and Techno teamed up to plan an escape. Wilbur did all the work for the escape, while Techno caused a bloodbath dismembering the inmates that had attacked Tommy's character. Tommy laughed, even as his character was hauled out of the prison by Wilbur's character. Techno's character soon followed, and he monotonously chimed that no one had been left alive. That sent all four of them into a fit of laughter, which died down into small giggles as Phil left to grab the next game. 

As soon as Sorry was pulled out, any sense of companionship that came from the previous game was completely obliterated. 

Tommy raged, Phil chuckled, Wilbur sighed, and Techno won. 

Any further details would probably traumatize a normal household. 

After a few more games, Phil turned to look out the window, and then at the clock. "It's getting late, we should all turn in for the night."

Tommy grumbled about having wanted to beat Techno at Sorry for revenge, and Techno quipped that it would take a million years before he'd even stand a chance. Tommy predictably took this very poorly and began to scream challenges at the Otherworld hybrid, and Wilbur lay his head in his palm. 

He'd admit that he was tired. Game nights like this were mentally exhausting, and he was starting to get a headache from Tommy's brash yelling. It was always fun, sitting down and playing games with everyone, allowing himself to be distracted by any negative thoughts. It was nice to bask in the comforting warmth of family, but it always left him exhausted at the end of the day. 

He knew such a thing wouldn't last for long after this though, so he'd make the most of what he could. 

Wilbur was herded off to bed first, which would be odd in any other circumstance than almost dying because everyone knows the sooner Tommy is asleep, the sooner there's relative quiet. Phil tucks him in just like yesterday night and gives him a kiss on the forehead. Tommy doesn't hug him goodnight this time, probably still too wound up from his loosing streak. The blonde mumbles a goodnight though, before he too is ushered to bed by an unrelenting Phil. 

Techno comes in through the door a minute later, and Wilbur offers his hand wordlessly. 

Techno accepts it, laying his fingers delicately on the brunets wrist. He isn't as nervous this time around, and lays down beside Wilbur without a fuss. 

Techno ends up staying another night in Wilbur's bed.

* * *

When he wakes up, Wilbur's head is pounding in his skull enough to make him grimace. There's a hand still on his wrist, and a brother still being reassured by the thumping of his heart. Techno's asleep, but it looks like he'd been awake a bit ago and had simply dozed back off again. 

Wilbur goes to shift his head to the side to get a better look at his brother and make sure no nightmares are plaguing his sleep, but the movement sends a sharp pain throughout his entire body. 

There's a mixture between a low whine and a curse on his tongue at the feeling, and he gently moves his free hand to grip the fabric of Techno's night shirt. 

He gives a few small tugs before Techno is stirring back awake. 

"Hm?" The sleepy hum makes its way to his ears, and Wilbur just wants to fall back asleep as the throbbing increases briefly at the sound. Techno must take notice of the pained expression etched onto his face because the sleep induced haze is gone from his eyes scarily fast. "Wilbur? What's wrong?" He can feel Techno's fingers find his pulse again, but he doesn't comment on it. 

"M'head hurts.." he mumbles out instead, voice ringing loud in his ears even if he knows it came out as a barely heard whisper. 

"Injury or..?" 

"Headache," he confirms, "s'bad."

Techno nods briefly, and Wilbur closes his eyes. 

"I'll go get Phil."

Techno's hand leaves his wrist, and Wilbur doesn't bother hiding the fact that he misses the comforting warmth the contact had brought. He lets his now free hand rest on the bed. 

"It'll only take a minute, I'll be back," Techno assures him lightly, and that's all it takes for Wilbur to believe him.

His mind's slightly muddled from trying to dull the pain, but he can hear the door open as Techno leaves the room, hear the soft clacking of hooves on hardwood as he walks away.

He's alone now. 

Normally, he'd end up sucking up the pain and just carry on with his day whenever this happened. And it had happened quite a bit, terrifyingly enough. 

It was one of the side effects from coming back to life. He didn't exactly know why it happened, just that it did.

Wilbur had a very bad track record of getting himself into troubling situations, and an even worse track record of not being able to get out of said situations alive. He'd died more times than he'd bothered to count, and the side effects came along each time without fail. 

It had never been this bad before, and Wilbur assumed it was whatever Reaper that had attached itself to him trying to reprimand him for being so stupid. 

The door creaked back open, and he idly wondered how much time had passed.

"Wilbur?" 

Phil's voice. He vaguely noted the nervous lilt to the word, storing it in the back of his mind for later reassurance. 

He gave a small groan in reply to the unspoken question that seemed to linger in the single utterance the man gave. It was enough of a response that Phil left the room on a quest to raid the bathroom for whatever brand of medicine they had for situations like this. 

He could hear Techno's footfalls as he neared the bed once more, felt the brush of a hand on his shoulder. 

Perhaps this is why, even when Wilbur sometimes took up the responsibility of it, Techno was the oldest son. Because the action was reassuring in the same way every promise the boy had kept was. Techno didn't make many that many promises, which made it all the more special. Because he always kept his promises, and had never broken a single one. Not even the unspoken ones. 

Though, he's sure that fact will change as soon as the murmur falls past the lips of his brother. 

"It'll be alright," there's a slight pause, "I promise."

And just like that, Techno became just like Phil. Empty promises fall upon ears that are numb to the unknowing lies, and Wilbur knows it'll pain the both of them when they realize they can't honour those promises. 

It doesn't hurt for Wilbur.

It won't hurt for Wilbur. 

( _It does, and it will_.)

* * *

Wilbur had fallen asleep after accepting the medicine Phil had offered (though not before checking the bottle, paranoia was paramount to survival-). But the conversation the two had shared in the small timeframe between the two events kept Phil's mind on overtime. 

_"Hey Phil," Wilbur spoke up, hesitance filling his words._

_"Yeah?" A small hum made its way out of his throat, addressing his son with a small sense of serenity. It had been a while since he'd taken care of any of his sons like this. They were a hardy trio of boys and didn't tend to grow sick too often, and he found himself enjoying the domestic ambiance that occurred when he could pamper them like this._

_"Phil, did you show your wings, when I nearly died?"_

_A small sense of alarm seeps into his system at the question. It had come straight out of left field, and a nervous tension fills the room._

_"No, why?" He forces his voice to come out steady, a false calmness coating his tone._

_"Because I remember seeing your wings, in an alley."_

Phil sighed, nursing the cup of tea he'd made in an attempt to calm himself. The words had stunned him for a moment, and when he had finally gathered himself enough for a response, Wilbur was fast asleep. 

It was terrifying, how close Wilbur had come to dying that day. 

Phil had made a promise to the boy, oh so many years ago. That he wouldn't see his wings in the context of death ever again. 

..and he'd broken that promise, just like that. 

It stung slightly, knowing he had the power to protect his son but he didn't. 

But there was no time to focus on that now, he had a Reaper to find. He didn't think he'd be able to keep his cool once he located it if he were being honest. It had helped conspire to kill his son, and even if it had failed, the attempt was still as clear as day.

He felt his resolve harden in his chest, constricting him. 

Nothing that harms his sons will be shown mercy.

* * *

The house felt oddly empty the next time Wilbur woke. 

He exhaled, slipping off of the bed. Remnants from his earlier headache throbbed lightly in his skull, but not nearly as bad as before. 

He opened the door silently, listening for the mayhem Tommy usually caused, feeling for the vague warmth that radiated through the house whenever Techno was awake. He tried to smell the scent of the chamomile tea Phil usually made whenever the man couldn’t sleep or was plagued by too many thoughts. 

Nothing. 

He quickly took one of the pills Phil had given him before, tucking the bottle into his pocket. 

He slipped out into the kitchen, looking at the calendar stuck into it with a magnet for any events they may have gone to. No writing was there for the entire week, but he could see eraser marks on it. They’d cleared their schedule, just for him. 

He glanced to the counter. 

There, clinging to the smooth granite, was an irritatingly yellow sticky note. 

He made his way over to it, looking over the message scrawled out in Phil’s usual handwriting. 

_Hey Wilbur! If we’re not back by the time you read this, don’t worry. We’re off looking for your attacker since we think we found a lead. We should be back by two at the latest. See you soon!_

_~Phil, Techno & Tommy_

Wilbur smiled fondly at the signatures. Phil’s was done in the same handwriting as ether note, while Techno’s was in his normal messy scrawl. It was clear Tommy had tried to mimic Phil’s signature, and Wilbur could almost hear his usual claims of being a man as he did so. 

His smile faded as he reread the contents of the note. 

They’d found a lead, which meant the invisible clock was ticking down. 

During his first year in the house, Wilbur had always been ready to sneak out at a moments notice in case Phil didn’t want him anymore, or if Techno and Tommy stopped liking him. He’d located every possible exit point in the house, and even made one of his own in secret. 

Despite how much the idea pained him, he might have to put that secret exit to good use. 

With a growing weight in his still beating heart, Wilbur set out around the house. He grabbed the first aid kit after making sure it was fully stocked, and also nabbed an emergency sewing kit just in case. He stuffed them into one of the larger bags lounging around in his closet. 

He grabbed a small pillow, a sleeping bag, and the patchwork blanket he couldn’t find it in himself to leave behind. He added a few rags and washcloths, a canteen and a few water bottles. 

He grabbed some bread, apples, leftover baked potatoes from game night, carrots, some energy bars, and a few knives all from the kitchen. 

Toothpaste and a spare toothbrush were also stuffed in there. He nabbed some hand sanitizer as well. 

He grabbed his phone charger, and placed it in after his phone (he’d deleted any apps that could potentially be used to track his location) once he’d put it on do not disturb. 

..he took a picture of the four of them out of its frame and tucked it safely in between his phone and the phone case.

He then grabbed another, warmer blanket and shoved it into the pack, bundled himself into his winter clothes, and pondered on how to make it look like he hadn’t run away.

Well, he could always make it look like someone had broken in. 

He went back to his room and begrudgingly messed the entire place up. He used one of the kitchen knives he’d taken to tear up the bedsheets and pillows, nabbed some spare pairs of clothes before tearing up most of the rest, and looked at the guitar still hanging up on the wall. 

He thought about destroying it for a split second before shunning that thought from his mind. 

He took off his pack, stuffed the extra clothes inside, and hesitated. He slung the guitar over his back before putting the pack overtop of it, despite the discomfort it caused. 

He looked over to the clock. He had two hours until the three came back home. Two hours to make the rest of the house look ransacked. 

He sighed, and set to work.

* * *

It had taken an hour of of carefully planned broken objects, and also making it look like there was a descent struggle. He’d opened the window to smash it from the outside without leaving incriminating footprints in the snow, but also making sure the glass wasn’t on the contradictory side of the wall. 

He carefully avoided any extra special items, hiding them in small nooks and crannies and making it look like he’d taken the time to save them from the inevitable. He hoped they’d appreciate it. 

He’d gone down to the generator and severed some of the wires with a well thrown knife, plunging the entire house into pitch darkness. 

And now here he was, walking down the crude tunnel he’d made at the age of eight, bent down in order to fit. 

It was hard to force himself to walk, not just because of the ache in his spine. 

He’d made this tunnel expecting to leave when he was still eight or even nine. Now here he was, at _sixteen_ , having just trashed the only home he’d ever had. It was hard to think about how many memories he’d destroyed and left behind, all because he made a dumb mistake and let someone stab him through the heart. 

The most embarrassing thing was that whoever had killed him, it wasn’t something that belonged to the supernatural that his family, and by extension him, dealt with daily. It was just a dumb dude who thought Wilbur had something valuable with him. He didn’t, but the man decided to stab him anyway and leave him to bleed out and die simply due to spite. 

It had been one of the very few human related deaths he’d suffered since being brought into Phil’s misfit family. 

He clutched the patchwork blanket closer to his chest at the thought, and urged himself not to think about them. Not to think about Tommy, who’d clearly been terrified enough to not annoy him awake in the mornings, like if he did Wilbur wouldn’t wake up and the blonde would be faced with a dead body on the bed. Not to think about Techno, who’d spent the past nights clutching Wilbur’s pulse and convincing himself that his brother hadn’t died. Not to think about Phil, the man who’d saved him from a life on the streets, who’d taken him in and pulled him into his mess of a family that pulled at the seams but ultimately stuck together. 

He trudged on, and tried his hardest not to think about them, and how devastated they’d be when they came back to the lifeless house. 

He’d made a cup of tea (chamomile, his favourite, just like Phil-) to try and calm himself, but stopped drinking it halfway through and instead downed a cup of coffee to keep himself awake, even if he hated the taste. He’d left the tea out on the counter, and he supposed it had lost its comforting warmth by now. 

He couldn’t resist the urge to snag a few of the teabags and pack it into his bag, though. Just in case he had enough free time to boil some water and put them to good use. 

(Not because the scent reminded him of Phil, and he didn’t want to give that up just yet.)

They’d probably assume he’d been awake when the house had been ransacked, halfway through drinking tea when the window was busted, and had abandoned it when he’d realized what was happening. He’d then taken the time to hide as many precious items belonging to his family as possible before he’d been attacked in his room, maybe trying to hide some stuff of his own. He would’ve moved out into the kitchen and attempted to fight back, and that’s where their knowledge on the situation would stop. 

He knew how they thought, it came with spending eight years calling them his family. He had set it up to make sure that would be their thought process. 

For both his own sanity and theirs, he hadn’t tried to convince them he’d been killed. 

So on he trudged, a lone figure in the dark, a single flashlight lighting his path and regret acting as his only company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, second chapter’s out! Working on a second au at the same time as this one, but the other one isn’t my main focus. 
> 
> This chapter’s a bit more rushed than the first which is a bit annoying, but it’ll be fixed when I rewrite this.


	3. Arc I. When One is Removed From The Picture

There was a foreboding feeling crawling up Phil's gut as he made his way closer to the house, and he found himself glancing around suspicious looking corners the further along he got. There was something.. wrong. Something was off, but he couldn't tell what it was, and that was what put him on edge the most. 

Techno and Tommy had gone ahead while Phil did one last check around for any more clues, but nothing else had turned up. At least they were making progress. 

There was a buzz in his pocket as his phone chimed a message from Techno, and he turned his attention to what it said. Techno didn't usually contact him, especially when the boy knew he would be back soon. 

_Someone broke into the house._

_Wilbur's missing._

Phil felt his heart plummet.

* * *

Phil stood outside the house, eyes wide. One of the windows was broken, most likely the entry point, because Phil was a hundred percent certain that he had locked the door behind him. But that did little to soothe his nerves anymore. 

He'd thought it would be safe leaving Wilbur alone to rest off his headache since the protective sigils around the house made it near impossible for anyone to break in. But here he was, faced with a broken window and an apparently Wilbur-less home. 

He carefully walked to the door, wrapping and arm around Tommy's shoulders and pulling him close. The blonde was simply standing stock still in the entryway, disbelief coating his form in a way that made it look all too natural on him. 

He didn't protest Phil's affections, and that was enough to tell him everything he needed to know about the situation. 

Wilbur was well and truly gone. 

Techno emerged from the house, an oddly somber expression on his face as he strode over to them. Without hesitation, Phil opened his arms and pulled his oldest son into the hug. 

They'd investigate and get the police involved later. For now, they simply needed a moment to process. 

(And grieve, a small part added. But Phil wouldn't grieve until he knew if his son was dead.)

* * *

Wilbur sighed as he reached the end of the tunnel. 

There were a plethora of things he needed to do once he went back outside. 

He'd need to get a hat to cover his hair, the unique style and familiar curls would be a dead giveaway to anyone searching for him. He'd also need a sweater in a colour and style he didn't normally wear as well. 

He couldn't use his credit card directly, but he could take all the cash out of it at an ATM to make it look like whoever had 'taken' him was planning to use his cash. He'd then ditch the card somewhere they could find it and mislead them using it as a red herring. 

He'd need to start replacing his stuff just to make sure none of it was recognizable, and also find a way to hide the guitar. He wasn't willing to replace that, so he’d need to buy a case for it.

He also needed to straighten his posture, so not even that would remain the same. He supposed he should also start wearing a pair of gloves so he didn't leave any fingerprints behind. 

At some point during these changes, Wilbur Soot would practically drop off of the radar except for the occasional red herring to his existence. He'd need a new name to go by, but since he couldn't exactly forge himself an entire new identity, he'd have to keep on the down low to avoid any sort of suspicion. He didn't need a completely unrelated police case on his new persona because he didn't have any identifications, especially while an investigation on Wilbur Soot's disappearance was ongoing. And he knew it would, his family was an unrelenting storm that would do anything for one of their own. And this would be the only time he couldn't appreciate it. 

He sighed, set down his pack, stuffed the patchwork blanket into it, and pulled out an energy bar. He regretted not making lunch before he left. Sue him, he was panicked. 

He stuffed the wrapper into his pocket before savouring the snack. 

He'd have to limit how much food he ate from now on, since even if he had money to buy more, that money wouldn't last forever. He couldn't get more since he couldn't get a job without identification, and going by Wilbur Soot would be a death sentence. He couldn't steal either, the whole point of this was to not draw attention to himself. If he wanted to be able to make a living, he needed to go somewhere nobody knew about his existence. Some place that the name Wilbur Soot had never been uttered before. 

He grimaced and slung his pack back over his shoulders. 

He needed to go to the Otherworld.

* * *

Wilbur sat at a café seat, listening to the wailing sirens in the distance, a telltale sign that Phil, Techno and Tommy had made it home. 

A cap fit snugly over his head, and a plain black hoodie draped itself over his frame. He'd gotten the main parts of his new identity as fast as possible before being seen as Wilbur Soot made him a dead man walking. He's sure the shopkeepers would let the police know about his little shopping trip, so he intentionally made himself look scared as he purchased the items. They didn't question it, they weren't paid enough to deal with socially anxious teenagers, but it would come into heavy question once a missing persons alert was issued. After leaving the store, he'd ducked into the alleyway he'd left his bag and guitar in, and climbed to the roof of one of the buildings to make it look like he'd simply disappeared out of camera views. 

Being on the roof had given him enough time to change into the new clothes, and he officially began his metamorphosis. 

He'd have to change his wardrobe again as soon as possible, hopefully before the employees of the shop he'd bought the items from spoke up. He'd chosen this look for a reason. It was unassuming, and no one would remember if someone in a black hoodie and a baseball cap came in and bought some clothes. 

He had about fifteen minutes tops until the alert came, from his calculations. The police would be using that time to investigate the house for any possible clues before coming to the public when they inevitably found none. 

So he finished his tea ( _green tea, never chamomile, not anymore-_ ) and breakfast before leaving the café. The man he'd become wouldn't be seen there again. 

Ducking out onto the streets, he looked for a fairly big clothing store. The more people to blend in with the better. Plus, who had time to remember a single person when thousands were in the building at the same time?

Finding his mark, he slipped inside with a large grouping of people before looking for a new hat. 

He couldn't change every part of his identity at once, that would be suspicious. Make it look like he had something to hide when he _clearly_ did not. 

He picked up a plain burgundy beanie before heading to the checkout. 

He eyed the rows of cashiers, and deliberately picked the one that looked like they'd had a bad night. Someone who was tired was less likely to pay attention to who they were offering their services to, more focused on simply going through the motions and getting it done. 

As he predicted, the woman barely even looked up at him.

Exiting the store, he matched in with the crowd before replacing the cap with his beanie, stuffing the cap into his bag for later disposal. He straightened his back when he noticed himself beginning to slouch, and made an effort to keep it that way. 

Walking into a retail store, he let the casual slouch back into his walk to make himself look a bit more unassuming before taking the first sweater he found. He slid up to to counter and placed it there, making small talk about the weather to bore the man that looked like he did not want to be there at all. 

He payed, stepped out of the shop, and headed into another alleyway. He made sure it was one that looked more like a shortcut route than a shifty drug den. 

He slipped off the black hoodie and replaced it with the mustard yellow one he'd gotten. 

He took out one of the kitchen knives and roughed up the black sweater and the baseball cap before chucking them into the nearest dumpster, shoving them down past the top layer so they couldn't be seen. Taking a gamble, he took out a bag from the dumpster that looked like it came from the retail store and cut it open. 

The contents of the bag seemed to be items that no one had bought, and Wilbur pulled out a pair of thin grey gloves after a few minutes of aimlessly rooting around through it. Chucking the bag back into the dumpster, he closed the lid and slid back out of the alley. 

He made his way back to the café he'd been at previously for a final test. 

He ordered a coffee to go, plain black even if he never liked the taste. The transaction went smoothly, and Wilbur saw no hint of recognition in the eyes of the person who had served him under half an hour ago. That meant success in his book. 

He turned his attention to the television hung on the wall as he waited for the coffee to brew. 

A familiar photograph met his gaze along with the words he'd been anticipating for the past hour and a half. 

The missing persons alert was out, that meant the cashiers at the first store he'd gone to would phone the police and alert them to his red herring. And if they didn't, he wouldn't loose a single thing. That just meant he'd be more anonymous than before. 

He brought his attention away from the screen as the coffee was placed in front of him. He thanked the woman, grabbed the drink, and strode out of the building. 

Wilbur Soot was now dead to this world, and for the first time, he would stay dead.

* * *

Phil stood numbly in the police station, keeping his hand in Tommy's the entire time. Techno was in for questioning now, the final one of their little family to be asked about the previous events that had been plaguing them. 

It was almost surreal. Just hours before, Wilbur was sleeping soundly with Techno beside him. Just hours before, Techno had gotten him because Wilbur was apparently having a bad headache. Just hours before, Phil had talked to his middle child and mourned a broken promise. 

Now, Wilbur was missing. 

The police couldn't find any clues beyond what the three of them had located, it was like the boy and the thief had simply.. disappeared. And Phil wouldn't put it past the list of possibilities. 

It was seeming more and more likely that they wouldn't see him again. 

Phil pulled Tommy closer and into an embrace. He didn't know which one of them needed it more. 

The ringing of the phone barely registered in his mind, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as the receptionist answered the call. 

"You have information on the boy?"

The question the receptionist asked made Phil startle. He couldn't help but get his hopes up, praying beyond nothing else that his boy was alive. 

"I see, thank you. We'll review the footage as soon as possible."

The call ended, and Phil fired off a line of questions to the woman at the front desk. 

"Was that about Wilbur? What did they know? Is he alive? Is he safe?"

Tommy looked up with wide eyes, listening in on the conversation the second his brother's name was mentioned. 

The receptionist shifted slightly before attempting to answer the demands. "Yes, someone contacted us about Wilbur Soot. The boy had entered their shop and bought a black sweater along with a baseball cap before leaving. They mentioned that something seemed off, but they didn't elaborate. Instead, they sent us the security footage so we could see for ourselves."

The relief he felt could have drowned him, and it took all he had to keep his head above the metaphorical waters. Wilbur was alive, and that was all that mattered for a precious few seconds. 

"May we watch the security footage as well?"

The receptionist gave him a brief look of pity. "Of course you can, I know what it's like to have a son go missing."

Satisfied, Phil gave a nod before bringing himself back over to where Tommy was seated. He couldn't bring himself to sit down next to the blonde, instead standing beside him with an arm on his shoulder. 

Together, the two waited for Techno's questioning to end. 

The second his oldest son stepped back through the doors, Phil launched himself forward as gathered him into an embrace. Techno didn't protest, instead wrapping his own arms around the man in a semblance of a hug. 

Phil turned to the receptionist again, still holding his son tightly. "Can we watch the footage now?" 

She nodded, and the family of three ( _four, they would always be a family of four-_ ) were ushered off into a different room. 

It was a blur of both everything and nothing, all he knew is that they had information on Wilbur. And now they would be watching the video proof that he was alive. 

The second it began though, his heart sank. 

_Wilbur glanced around him, shifting from side to side before hesitantly making his way into the store. The bell jingled as the door swung open, and Wilbur watched it warily for a few moments._

_He looked around before grabbing a plain black sweater and a baseball cap. He shifted from foot to foot, taking a glance outside before curling in on himself slightly. He quickly faced away from the window and shuffled over to the pair of cashiers manning the checkout._

_"I'd uh, I'd like to, uh, purchase these.. please.." the brunet's voice was filled with uncertainty, and tapered off as he presented the items. One of the cashiers took the clothes without a word, and the other took to telling him the price._

_Wilbur handed over two twenty dollar bills, and received his change without a fuss. He took the clothes and refused a bag._

_"thank you.." the murmur was barely heard before the teen was at the door of the shop. He opened it, glancing up at the bell as it chimed once again. He looked left and right, hunching over before stepping outside of the building._

_Wilbur appeared on the outside cameras, still shifting nervously as he set off down the street a little ways before ducking into an alleyway._

The footage ended there, and he could help but feel tears well up in his eyes. 

Phil's boy, his son, he.. he looked so scared. His heart ached, and he wanted nothing but to find Wilbur and give him the biggest hug the universe could offer. He wanted to finally do his job as a father and protect the brunet, to not let anything bad touch him ever again. 

Beside him, Techno stood completely frozen in place. His eyes were glued to the screen, like if the footage went on for long enough Wilbur would step out of the alleyway with his normal laughter and claim that it was all a prank. 

Tommy had crawled onto Phil's lap, hugging his waist tightly and burying his face into the fabric of his shirt. Phil didn't mention the muffled sobs or the way his shirt slowly dampened. The man was in no position to tell the blonde not to cry, seeing as he was doing the same. 

He held his youngest tightly, gently tugging Techno over into the embrace as well. He knew his oldest son wasn't the biggest fan of contact, but Phil didn't think the teen minded too much at the moment. They all needed it. 

(They needed Wilbur, really, but they couldn't do much about that at the moment.)

* * *

Wilbur carefully maneuvered away from the growing commotion around the shop he'd set up his red herring in. Police cars littered the street, and he couldn't help but glance through the sea of curious citizens to see if he could catch a glimpse of three certain familiar faces. 

He saw none of them, and turned away. 

He shouldn't be looking for them anyway, unless it was to try and avoid them. Whoever he was now, he wasn't affiliated with them. They were looking for Wilbur Soot, the missing teenager they'd shown on television. He had no information about the boy, so he was nothing to them. 

Just like he wanted. 

And just like they'd want, he hoped. Because once they found out about his teeny problem of not being able to die, Phil would need to..

He hoped Phil knew he made the choice he thought was best. For all of them. He didn't want Tommy and Techno to live without a dad, or live with a dad that had killed their brother. He didn't want to have Phil kill him after the reaper was pried away from his soul. 

He hoped they didn't want that either. 

He hoped he wasn't the only one that knew this was for the best. He hoped beyond all hope that they'd just move on with their lives, and if it made it easier, forget the existence that was Wilbur Soot. 

He weaved his way through the plethora of people, making sure the beanie was securely over his head. He had his guitar on his back, not worrying about people looking at it since he'd bought a case at some point during his shopping spree. He was holding his bag in his sights to make sure that no thief decided to nab it, and he’d stored his money safely in his guitar case, something that couldn't be opened while on his back. 

He almost instinctively went to catch hold of the twelve year old chaos spirit that came barrelling past him, but held himself back. He simply watched Tommy push through the crowd. He looked away and scanned the immediate area, looking for any telltale signs of Techno and Phil's presence. 

He shifted left into the crowd to avoid brushing past Techno, carefully keeping his gaze from settling on the odd looking stranger.

( _Stranger, he was a stranger now._ )

He didn't see Phil, which was as disappointing as it was relieving. 

But now that he knew they were on the move trying to look for him, he needed to start acting fast. His red herrings would only last for so long before he eventually slipped up. 

If he was planning to go to the Otherworld, he needed to know how. 

He managed to pry himself out of the crowd and head towards the library. He'd look for any books on the subject if he couldn't find anything with a google search. 

Heading into the building, he let himself drift between the shelves until he found a particularity cozy nook to rest in. There was what could only be described as a memory foam beanbag chair in the corner, and it was pure bliss to sink down on after a busy day of walking. 

Wilbur took his phone out of his bag, plugged it into the outlet in the wall since it had lost some charge from the cold, and took the time to do a factory reset on the device. Just in case. 

He'd memorized the phone numbers of his family, he'd recognize them without their names in his contacts. If only just to know which ones not to open. To not show any sign of having read them. Of having acknowledged them. 

Once he was through all the annoying instructions on what he should be doing to be able to use his phone again, he opened up Safari and started searching away. 

There were a lot of interesting facts and speculations, but sadly (if not expectedly) there was nothing concrete on how to get there. There were theories, of course, and he could try as many as he needed to. If he ended up dying a couple hundred times in the process, it wouldn't matter. This identity wasn't in any way related to the case of Wilbur Soot at the moment, so he had some time to be reckless. 

He left his phone charging in the small nook before heading back out among the shelves. 

He glanced along the book spines, eyes drifting for anything of interest. Many of the books looked like they hadn't been touched in years. It was clear that this was a subject only a select few seemed passionate about. 

He halted his musings as his eyes drifted over an unassuming book, looking just as boring as the rest of them. He would've brushed past it in his initial scan if not for the fact that there was a lot less dust on its spine. 

He carefully maneuvered it off of the shelf. 

It was a book about the research of one Dr. Hatchfield detailing his thoughts on the effect of magic in the Otherworld. It was one he'd seen before, Techno had always been a little bit curious as to his origins. There was nothing really of note inside of it, he'd read it with his older brother when he'd first gotten it at a book sale, and he almost placed it back on the shelf. 

But he hadn't seen any other noteworthy books on the subject of the Otherworld, so this was the best place to start his investigation he supposed. 

He flipped it open, skimming through the pile of useless words and slowing down at anything of note. It was a good theory he supposed, but Techno's mere existence disproved it in a heartbeat. He could see the reasons one may have to come to the conclusion that the good doctor did though. 

Reaching the middle of the unfairly thick book, Wilbur almost didn’t notice as a slip of paper fell from between the pages. At first he dismissed it as a makeshift bookmark, but as he read over the page there was nothing of special interest there at all. Nothing special to keep a tab on. 

He glanced down to the paper before picking it up. It didn't look very worn, and judging by the fact that this book was the only one in this section to look like it had been read in the past few months made it easy to conclude that it was placed in the book when it had last been taken off the shelf. 

He blinked as he examined the contents of the paper. 

It was a diagram, one depicting a rectangular frame that an arrow labeled _obsidian?_

The question mark confused him slightly, but he continued to try and decipher the messily scrawled words. 

_This is the frame needed to get to the Nether, built from Otherworld obsidian. Once built, you need to ignite the inside of the frame. All you need to do after that is step through, and you'll arrive at the Nether. Be sure to bring enough obsidian blocks for two portals, or be prepared for a long journey to locate another working portal._

_Good luck Dream, this is as much help as I'm able to give._

Wilbur wondered idly who this note was addressed to, but paused that line of thought. He quickly placed the book back onto the shelf, stuffing the note into his pocket. 

He made his was back to the nook he left his phone in, and opened up the web browser. 

_Otherworld Obsidian_

He looked through a plethora of results, and sighed. 

Looks like he'd have to resort to crime as this persona in the end anyway. 

..who even had that much money?!

* * *

Phil sighed, waiting for the detective the police claimed would help find his son. Checking out the alleyway had been a bust, no clues were left behind. All of a sudden the footprints had just.. stopped. It was confusing, and Phil still needed to offer up a good enough explanation in order to keep the human side of the city unaware of the supernatural side. 

The door creaked open, and Phil looked up, halfway expecting it to be one of his sons coming to get him for more police questioning. 

But no. 

It was a man, a beard of stubble adorning his chin and a long trench coat hanging limply over his frame. Wire rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and sandy brown hair peeked out from under the detective’s cap on his head. 

All in all, he looked like he came from one of the cartoons his sons watched that he couldn’t remember the name of. 

The man seemed to notice his stare and looked down at his clothes. “Yeah, the uniform they give out is pretty silly looking.” He gave a chuckle. 

He plopped down into the second seat in the room, tossing a stack of papers onto the table. “So, I’ve read the case file, and it looks like you’re leaving out quite a bit of information.”

Phil made a conscious effort to keep his tone steady as he spoke. “What do you mean by that?” 

The man gave him a side glance before sighing, as if this was a problem he dealt with on the daily. 

“Look man, I can see the wings, so can we stop acting like this case toes on the human side of the city? It’d be a lot easier to work with you once you stopped omitting details about the whole situation.”

Phil felt himself relax slightly. It’d be okay to tell the man about everything if he wasn’t human. 

There was a rule between the supernatural beings of the city that they weren’t to alert the humans of their existence. Some of them had no control on if they could or not, and others simply didn’t care, but Phil firmly stood in his stance. He wouldn’t mention anything about the supernatural to humans. He’d be a fool to. He knew how they ticked, and he knew his boys would eventually be targeted if their existence came to light. 

But this man was safe to talk to. 

“Alright.” Phil released a tired sigh, the stress of what had been happening during the past few hours weighing down on him. He felt like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Alright, I’ll start from the beginning.”

And so on he went, telling him of being sent down to Earth in order to hunt down a rogue Reaper. About how he’d lost its trail and instead found Techno, five years old and on his own out on the streets. How he’d put his mission on pause in order to give the boy the best life possible. He told him about Tommy, four years old and already having seen his parents die from starvation. About how the blonde would have soon followed their lead if Phil hadn’t stepped in. 

And he spoke of Wilbur. He spoke of the brunet fondly, eight years old and coming up to him to compliment his wings even though he was clearly human and shouldn’t have been able to see them. How he’d panicked and rushed the boy home when he’d collapsed onto the street, Phil barely being able to catch him in time before he smashed his head on the concrete. How Techno had been exasperated with Phil at the sight of another child in his arms. 

He spoke of how when the brunet finally opened his eyes, he’d been sad to no longer see the wings upon his back. How he’d made a promise to the boy that he’d never see his wings that way again. 

He paused briefly before telling of how he’d broken that promise. Of how his middle son had gone missing for two hours after patrol had ended, and how Techno had found him hypothermic and barely responsive in the snow. 

He explained in detail about their theory on his attacker being connected to the Reaper he’d been sent down to kill, and how once Wilbur woke up he couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened that day. 

He told the man of how Tommy was too afraid to wake him up like he’d be faced with a dead body on the bed if he did, and of how Techno fell asleep beside Wilbur each night after he’d woken, clutching his brother’s pulse in an attempt to convince himself the brunet hadn’t died. He spoke of how he didn’t sleep much those three nights, staying up with a cup of chamomile tea to soothe his nerves. 

He told of Wilbur’s headache, how worried Techno had seemed when he’d come to get Phil. Of the conversation he’d shared with Wilbur before the boy had fallen asleep. 

He spoke of how Techno found a lead on Wilbur’s mystery attacker, and how they’d left the house for a few hours under the guard of protective sigils. He spoke of the angry numbness that consumed him once the fact that his son had gone missing finally settled in.

He spoke of every last detail, glad to finally, _finally_ have someone to tell. 

He didn’t know when he’d started to cry, tears streaming gently down his face. He didn’t know when Techno and Tommy had joined him, nor when they’d pulled him into an embrace. 

What he did know was that he wanted his son back. 

The anger, the protective rage, it had all simply died down. He didn’t care what happened to the reaper anymore. He just wanted his son back, safe in his arms and hidden from the cruelties of the world. 

He wanted Tommy to have his partner in crime back, to hear the excitement in their laughter ringing throughout the house whenever they’d successfully pranked one or both of the other residents of the small home. He wanted Tommy to be able to have back the one he went to when he had nightmares, too embarrassed to admit it to Phil or Techno even if they’d put two and two together the next morning. 

He wanted Techno to have his unrelenting support back, his guiding rock that always seemed to know the right things to say. He wanted to listen in on their plots to annoy their younger brother, their inevitable cheers of success once everything had gone to plan. 

He wanted to be able to have nighttime talks over chamomile tea, gentle hugs whenever the boy admitted to feeling alone even with his family surrounding him. He wanted back the sound of his guitar filling the house with song, and stitching together tears in a patchwork blanket. 

He wanted Wilbur back home where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this done in about a day during an inspiration high, so if it seems a bit rushed, that’s probably why, lol.


	4. Act I. What to do When Hope Wears Thin

Wilbur shivered as he huddled up in an alleyway. He'd wrapped himself in a cocoon of blankets before plunging himself into the sleeping bag he'd brought, but it did little to ward off the cold. 

He knew the day wouldn't last forever, and he'd been silently dreading the arrival of nightfall. He could only keep himself busy with research and shopping trips for so long before the reality set in. 

He was homeless again, out on the streets during the peak of winter. 

He had more things to keep him warm than he did as a child, so he thought it would be easy to just sleep away the cold, cold nights. He'd miscalculated. Maybe the winters had grown colder since he was a child, but he'd checked the temperature on his phone. It was actually warmer than the winters he'd faced as a child. Something to do with global warming is what the news claimed. 

He didn't know why he was cold. Except for the fact that he did. 

As the hours passed, Wilbur quietly admitted to himself that he'd grown used to having a home. He'd grown used to having some place warm to sleep at night, to wake up on a bed and wander down to the kitchen for breakfast. He'd grown used to being elected to wake Tommy most days of the week, sometimes getting away with forcing the job onto Techno under the claims of being busy. 

He'd grown used to having a family, like a fool. 

He should've expected it not to last, like he did when he was eight years old digging out a shoddy tunnel underneath the house in case he needed to make a hasty escape. Like when he was ten, and Phil showed him his wings for the first time and admitted that he wasn't human and neither were his two other sons.

But somewhere along the line, he'd grown fond of them. And by growing fond, he grew attached. He didn't know why or how, just that he had. 

And some part of him screamed to go back, but he knew he couldn't. 

And in the dead of night, Wilbur cried. He cried and he cried and he mourned the loss of a family that had been all too perfect.

Later, he would weep himself gently into a restless sleep. Later, he would wake up and ignore the splotchiness on his cheeks, ignore the stinging in his eyes and continue working towards his goal. 

But later wasn't now. And for now, he mourned the death of Wilbur Soot, the son and the brother.

* * *

The moment the sun rose through the sky, Phil was back at the police station with Tommy and Techno. Yesterday had been a whirlwind of too many emotions, leaving everyone involved feeling drained. Despite that, Phil kept himself awake with only chamomile tea for company, making extra sure Tommy and Techno were safe. 

He was sure he could hear Techno pacing in his room, though the boy didn't join him out in the kitchen. And Tommy had fallen asleep on Wilbur's bed, having brought his own pillow and blankets over since the brunet's room was still trashed. 

Now here they were, sitting in the familiar room at the police station. Phil had brought some tea from home in a thermos, some sort of fatherly intuition telling him it would be a long day. 

"Hello again Phil," the stubble beard and odd outfit took a moment to click in his sleep deprived mind.

"Ah, hello Detective." Phil greeted warmly, taking a sip out of the thermos. "Have you made any progress?"

"Slow going. We've been searching through security cameras for the boy while keeping in mind he may be dressed differently, but we've had no luck so far." The man gave a tired sigh. "We'll be checking out the shopping district he was last seen at for any clues, would you like to join us?"

"Of course."

Phil turned to look at his boys. "I know you'd probably like to come along, but I'm giving you the option to stay behind if you wish."

"We'll come," Techno piped up monotonously. Tommy nodded hastily from beside the hybrid. 

"Hey Techno, I bet I'll be the one to find Wilbur first!" 

Phil gave a small smile as the two began their usual banter. Perhaps it was a bit subdued, a bit forced, but it soothed his heart all the same. 

It would be fine. They would find Wilbur, and everything would be okay.

* * *

Wilbur woke with the sun. Perhaps being out on the streets again had helped him regress to some of his usual habits. If he were at the house, he'd be sleeping in for as long as possible until someone came to wake him up. Now, he woke up the second the sun rose, ready to pack up and get moving. 

He untangled himself from his cocoon of blankets, tucking them back into his pack along with the sleeping bag and pillow. He hefted his guitar onto his back, followed by the bag. Now that there wasn't as big of a crowd, he felt better about carrying it outside of his field of vision. 

He stepped out of the alleyway and let his gaze drift across the different shops. He still felt a bit too much like Wilbur Soot for comfort. What was something he normally wouldn't wear? An accessory most preferably, something that wouldn't clutter his current outfit to the point of standing out.

Jewelry was out of the question. Too flashy and prone to being stolen, not to mention expensive. A watch could be useful, but he'd never appreciated the feeling of something constricting his wrist.

Sunglasses? No, they'd be too noticeable. No one really wore sunglasses in winter, and Wilbur wasn't planning on staying until the snow melted. Glasses, maybe? But most glasses were prescription, and those were terribly expensive. Not to mention they’d give him a headache. 

As he passed through the shops, he paused. There, a pair of circular, wire framed sunglasses. Taking a gamble, he entered the store before picking them up off of the display. He grabbed the twenty he'd stored in his pocket yesterday before paying for them, accepting his change before heading back out of the store.

He ducked into a less populated corner of the block before examining the sunglasses. He pressed his thumbs to the black lenses, applying more and more pressure until they popped out of the frame. He then placed them on his face, blinking slightly as he tried to acclimate to the new feeling.

He bent down, grabbing the lenses. Because if living with Phil had taught him anything, it was that littering was a big no-no. He shoved them into his sweater pocket before heading back out into the main part of the shopping district.

Seeing Phil attempting to reign in a riled up Tommy as Techno snickered from beside the two was not the sight he was expecting to be greeted by. It made his heart ache slightly. Even if they looked happy and normal, he could see the sheltered tension in Techno's shoulders, could hear how Tommy forced his laughter to seem genuine. He could see the dark circles under Phil's eyes as they wandered, looking to catch a glimpse of his missing son. 

He averted his attention from the three, walking past them without a word.

They didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge them. Just like strangers, because that's what they were now. He just needed to remember that. 

He wondered how they would feel when they inevitably realized this stranger was their son, wondering how many times they'd walked past him in plain sight because they were too focused on finding Wilbur Soot to pay attention to a plain looking human. He wondered how much Phil would berate himself for not recognizing his middle child, how sullen Tommy would be when he realized he couldn't simply put two and two together. How disappointed Techno would be in himself for not paying better attention to his surroundings.

Wilbur felt bad, for making them worry. For tricking them, for lying to them and keeping so many important facts to himself. He felt bad for intruding on their family, for not running away the second he had the chance. For not leaving them behind the minute he realized Phil's mission revolved around him.

But he couldn't change his past actions, and he couldn't suddenly turn around and pull them into a hug and apologize for all the trouble he'd caused. He had to keep pushing forward towards his goal, and right now, that was finding the best way to steal some Otherworld Obsidian. No amount of regret for his decisions would be stopping him now. He couldn't stop now. Turning back equaled permanent death, and no matter how broken up about his disappearance his family seemed, they'd be even more broken up about being the reason for his death.

At least like this they had the optimism that Wilbur Soot was still alive. 

He'd have to leave the shopping district as soon as possible. It was the area they were investigating, and the sooner he stopped seeing them, the better.

He almost didn't notice the man trailing the trio, with a stubbled beard and a loose cap perched upon sandy brown locks. He thought to warn them, but chose against it. Even if his family was focused on finding him (finding Wilbur, not him-), they weren't the type to remain ignorant to their surroundings. They most likely knew the man was following them, so he was probably working with them to find the missing boy they’d shown on television. That made him someone to avoid.

He took note of the man's general profile through a few side glances, enough to paint a vague mental picture. He'd avoid anyone resembling that mental picture until he left the shopping district.

Carefully glancing behind him at his family and the man to make sure none of them were watching him, he slid the two halves of his credit card out of his pocket (he had cut it earlier with one of the knives he'd taken) before slipping into a nearby alleyway and dropping them. Littering was a no-no, that much he'd learnt, but he knew it wouldn't be considered litter for long. Soon, it would be a valuable red herring that would distract those searching for Wilbur Soot.

(Vaguely, he wondered when he'd started thinking like a kidnapper.)  
(Fitting, since he'd kidnapped himself.)

He sighed, hefting his bag higher up onto his back before cutting through to the other end of the alleyway, just in case the four spotted him leaving it the way he came in. He didn't want to link this persona to the credit card in even the most minuscule of ways. 

With another part of his identification as Wilbur Soot left behind, there was nothing else to do in the shopping district. That meant it was time for him to take his leave. 

He shifted his hand into his pocket, pulling out the diagram once again. Now, he needed to figure out which pompous rich dude had the most Otherworld Obsidian for him to borrow for a bit without their knowledge. 

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Detective Coleman was a detective that took cases that involved the supernatural side of the city. He was one of the few people qualified to do so, along with his partner. He had a 100% success rate (not anymore, he supposed, since they still hadn't solved that Otherworld case-) due to how little cases he actually took. It wasn't as if he was holding back on taking cases he didn't think he could solve, just that many supernatural cases were never reported in fear of accidentally involving a human with the supernatural. 

Looking over the case file he had been sent yesterday, it had been clear that there were too many missing details. A missing teenager, kidnapped from his home in the middle of the afternoon with no motive whatsoever. 

But what had caught his eye was the name of the missing boy. 

Wilbur Soot. 

It was hard not to know him when you were a detective of the supernatural. He was one of the few humans to actually know of the second side to the city. Though his father kept on the hush-hush side of things when it came to the boy, he wasn't legally allowed to keep the fact that his son knew about the supernatural a secret. 

He had never met Phil before the case, didn't really know anything about him, not even his name. He hadn't known of his relation to Soot until the man had come to the police to report a break in of his home and a now missing son. 

It didn't take long before he'd offered to help in the investigation. 

Meeting Phil, the angel wings on the man's back had surprised him. He hadn't seen such pure wings in a long, long time. They weren't his main focus, however mentioning them did the both of them a great favour when it came to trust. 

When the man finally came clean about everything, it was clear this was a bigger case than he'd anticipated. 

But he didn't want to fail this man and his sons, not like he failed those two teens (how many months ago was that now? Seven?). He'd get Phil's son back to him, or at the very least, get him closure.

* * *

Phil stared down at the two halves of the credit card. The name of his son stared right back at him. "Tommy.. Tommy, can you go get Techno and Detective Coleman for me?" His voice wavered slightly. The blonde gave a nod before scampering out of the alleyway. 

Whoever had Wilbur, they were making him get rid of anything relating to his identity. 

A numb sort of resolve washed over him as he realized this fact. They were on a time limit. Wilbur's appearance had changed, if the new clothes were anything to go by. His personality had shifted, if the tape were to be believed. And now, anything relating to the identity of Wilbur Soot was being thrown away. 

If they didn't find him soon, he'd be gone forever. 

"Phil?" The monotonous greeting alerted him to the presence of his oldest son. "Did you find something?"

He turned around, watching as Detective Coleman rounded the corner of the alleyway. "Yeah- yeah, I did."

Before anyone could give further prompting, Phil handed the two halves of the credit card over to the Detective. He didn't want to hold onto them anymore at the moment. 

"They're getting rid of anything that relates to Wilbur Soot," he quickly explained. "They're forcing him to become someone else." The words felt like poison on his tongue. 

Detective Coleman paled, as if realizing the same thing Phil had only moments prior. "That means that once he's gone from this area, we won't be able to track him." 

"If that's what they're planning," Techno spoke up, hand on Tommy's shoulder from where the blonde was standing silently, "then they've already left."

"What?" The incredulous tone Tommy used after his bout of silence was enough to snap all attention to him. "I remember checking this alleyway! There was nothing here!"

"Maybe you missed it." Techno's words made Tommy explode into one of his normal bouts. 

"I didn't miss anything because there was nothing _to_ miss! This wasn't here when I checked it, so he _has_ to be around here somewhere!" The boy crossed his arms angrily, staring Techno down like he'd bite his older brother's head off if he tried to refute his claims. 

"That means there's only two ways that this could have gotten here," Phil spoke up in an attempt to defuse the brewing argument. "Either Wilbur really is still here, or.." he trailed off. 

"Or whoever has him isn't working alone," Detective Coleman finished for him. 

No matter how much they could try to claim otherwise, the four of them knew which option was most likely.

* * *

Wilbur held his breath, heart thundering a frightening staccato in his chest while his lungs screamed at him to breathe. He could hear the footsteps growing closer.

He shouldn't be terrified of a simple thief. 

He didn't even stay dead! If they killed him, he'd just come back and that would be that. He'd have to buy new clothes for a new identity, sure, but- but he shouldn't be _scared_.

For a brief moment, he wondered why Phil, Techno and Tommy were late to come to his aid. They'd helped him in situations like this before, so why was this time any different?

And then he remembered that he technically wasn't Wilbur Soot at the moment. Remembered that they didn't know who he was or where he was or why Wilbur was gone-

He let out a shuddering exhale, praying beyond everything that whoever was targeting him hadn't heard. He gave his lungs the oxygen he needed, and tried to clear the panic from his mind. 

He couldn't rely on his family anymore, so he'd have to get out of this situation by himself. He couldn't just wait it out until they arrived and saved him from another tally mark on his vague death count like he normally would. 

He needed to be able to survive on his own. Without them. Because he couldn't go back.

He couldn't keep dying over and over again, because if he was seen coming back to life after dying in the Otherworld, he didn't know what would happen to him. At least here he knew the potential punishment he'd get. But there? He was going in blind. 

He was underprepared for this impromptu journey, but if he'd stalled any longer he'd have been caught.

He didn't even know how dangerous the Otherworld was for goodness sake! If he couldn't manage to get out of a situation like this, how hard would it be for him to adapt to a whole new world? 

Sure, Phil had forced him to learn self defence due to their entire situation, but Wilbur had never been able to properly do anything of the sorts in a non simulated session. Because his family's version of self defence was a bit more violent than most would agree with, and Wilbur was terrified to use it against someone. 

But it was looking more and more like his only choice.

He gripped his resolve tight, the shaking in his hands being quelled by the trickle of adrenaline that seeped through his system as the footsteps pounded in his skull. He blended himself in with the shadows as the man turned the corner to his hiding place.

He hoped his ragged breathing wouldn't give away his position.

Wilbur lashed out the second the man stepped too close for comfort, and it was terrifying how _easy_ it was to catch him in a chokehold. He could feel the man unbalance and took the opportunity to fling the both of them to the ground, shoving the stranger's head into the concrete. He cut off his attacker's breathing (attacker? Had he not been the one to start this?), feeling as he thrashed beneath him.

He wasn't looking to kill the man. Ironically enough, Wilbur supposed he knew the worth of a life much better than most. Because one realizes how much it was worth when their own is about to come to an end. He'd learnt that lesson the first time he was old enough to comprehend the times he'd nearly died. But the thing about being able (forced, he corrected-) to come back to life each time he died was that he could bring that knowledge of human worth back with him. He'd promised to himself to never forget it. Never forget how much a life meant.

So no, he wasn't looking to kill the man. He just needed to knock him out long enough to be able to make a quick escape without being seen.

As soon as the thief stilled beneath him, Wilbur shot backwards. He could hear the pounding in his ears that echoed the tune of his heart (still beating still alive, or was it echoing the footsteps of the man he'd just-) and could feel his fingers tremble harshly in a way that didn't not come from the adrenaline that drained rapidly out of his system. He scrambled away from the man (the body the body-) until maybe he could think just a little clearer. But being further away just made it worse because he was still looking at him face down unmoving (unbreathing-) and the only way to remind himself that the man was still alive was to go closer. But he couldn't, because what if when he did there was no heartbeat in his chest or breath in his lungs and he'd just killed a man who's heart wouldn't start back up like his own and he'd forgotten what he'd learnt and re-learnt every time he died and broken the promise he repeated every time he upped the number on how many times he'd kicked the bucket-

He turned and ran. He ran and he ran and he didn't look back because he wasn't a killer, he wasn't, and he didn't want to face the idea that he could be.

He ran until he doubled over by a wall and emptied his stomach of it's meagre lunch. And when his body wasn't keen on stopping at just that, he ended up evicting his stomach acid as well. He could feel the burn of it crawling up his throat and it calmed him in a strange way. A low pain to ground him, to bring him back from the spiral he hadn't realized he'd been going down.

The man wasn't dead, he'd made sure not to constrict his airways for any longer than absolutely necessary. He'd simply needed to get past without being spotted, because he'd hate to have to buy new clothes. These ones were honestly growing on him. He didn't want to abandon this new identity so soon after creating it. Though he'd insulted the colour choice of the sweater before, the tone was beginning to feel like a small comfort. The wire rims that mimicked glasses now sat comfortably on his face instead of feeling foreign, and the beanie was softer than he'd given it credit for.

He stood, entering the streets that buzzed a low murmur. He let his thoughts wander and distract themselves away from what had happened only minutes before. He'd need to grow used to this, but for now, he could allow himself to distance himself. 

He had time now.

* * *

Phil stood numbly, staring in disbelief at the receptionist. "I-" It was hard to form the words around his tongue, to gain back a semblance of the fluency he'd had only moments prior. But he needed to speak up, to confirm that he hadn't misheard. Even if he hoped he had. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" It was almost a threat in the way that his tone remained steady, seemingly staring straight past her eyes and into her soul, looking for any semblance of a lie.

"I'm sorry, Phil. But I'm afraid we have nothing to work with. If what you and the Detective have explained is true, than it won't be long until the case goes cold." Phil could see the pain in her eyes as she spoke, and he recalled what she'd said to him the first day he'd been at the police station.

_I know what it's like to have a son go missing._

Even if he knew why it would happen, he couldn't help but want to shout at them to do whatever they could. To scour the city and and the neighbouring cities and even the whole globe if they had to.

He slumped back into the seat he'd been given.

They couldn't.. they couldn't give up now. Not when Wilbur needed him, when his son was alone and away from him and away from Techno and away from Tommy-

A hand placed itself gently on his shoulder, and he wilted.

He wilted like the chamomile plants in their backyard, and he let out the tears he'd been convincing himself not to shed. Not to shed while they still had a chance at finding him. He let the consoling hand guide him out of the room and into the welcoming arms of his sons, the two sons that should be three-

He knew that Techno could guess what the woman had said, as the hybrid simply hugged him tight.

"We'll keep looking," the monotone whisper assured him, "we'll keep looking, even if they can't help us anymore."

They both knew it would be an exercise in futility, but they could let themselves believe that they'd find their wayward kin.

"Let's go back home, you two," he murmured softly to the two sons in his arms. Back to the home that felt strangely empty, the one missing the sounds of a guitar and the smiling laughter of a brunet son. Back to the home that was no longer torn apart by a phantom thief with motives unknown.

"Let's go home," he whispered to himself. To the home that no longer felt like home because home was wherever they were all together.

 _Let's go home_. The last time remained unsaid. Let's go find the missing piece of home.

* * *

Wilbur looked around District B, at the people and the places. He'd bought a notebook and a pencil and began sketching out rough profiles of people he should avoid (the thief remained near the top of that list-), and if anyone sparked familiar in his mind, the first thing he'd do was check it. If they matched, he'd be gone before anyone could notice. 

Sure, he seemed paranoid, but he had every right to be. Even after hopping districts, he wasn't sure if people were still looking for Wilbur or not. And he'd learnt the hard way that this district was much more violent than the shopping district. Probably because Phil wasn't sending down weekly patrols to curb the crime here.

It was a rough transition. Between finding an unoccupied alleyway to claim as a temporary home base and slowly becoming more accustomed to violence, he'd thought more than once about turning tail away from this plan. About coming up with some sort of cover story about what had happened and why he ran away.

But now, he didn't think he'd be able to face them again. Not after all this.

So on he trudged through city streets, even as the snow began to melt and the season shifted. Even as the days grew warmer he still remained cold.

His hands still shook when he knocked someone out, and he'd lost his lunch a few times after the first, but he was getting better. He'd taken to tying up the ones with criminal records and leaving them in an alley near District B's police station. There was a public library he liked to lounge in when it rained or when he was doing research on the Otherworld Obsidian, and the owner was kind enough to not kick him out when he loitered for too long. He suspected she'd dealt with people like him before, simply looking for a place to be safe.

The time apart from his family had started to numb the wound the separation had brought. The less he thought of them, the easier it was to move past the fact he'd left them just like that. And not thinking of them was much easier when they weren't around every corner he went.

He hoped his absence had the same effect on them as well.

(Perhaps he was lying to himself, because no matter where he was he still felt cold, felt the bitter sadness run through him whenever he had time to himself.)

All in all, he was doing okay.

(Was he?)

He'd need a few months to prepare to steal the Otherworld Obsidian he needed, because he couldn't just go in without a plan. He had enough money to last him through those months, but only if he rationed it carefully. 

He would spend those months in District B unless he had to slink off again in which he'd make his way over to District F. Then, he'd get the Otherworld Obsidian, build the portal (he still didn't know quite how, the instructions weren't too specific-), and get to the Otherworld. Then he'd be away from any danger, he wouldn't bring attention to himself and everything would be fine.

(He was fooling himself, it wasn't fine and it wasn't going to be-)

He’d be okay. 

Eventually. 

And he’d work for that eventually as hard as he could until he got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got writers block at the worst time so it might seem a bit rushed/forced near the end.


	5. Act I. Four Months is a Long Time to Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? An update? Pog!

Detective Coleman waved Phil out of his office, the scent of chamomile tea lingering in the air as a telltale sign the man had been there. It had been four months since Wilbur Soot's kidnapping, and they hadn't had a single stroke of luck in that time.

During those months, he'd seen Phil's grief turn to grim determination, watching the man throw himself into researching every single possible outcome. Tommy, the blonde teen that had made a bold first impression after the shock had finally worn out of his system, he'd seen the teen loose grip of his power more often as the days went by. Saw his laughter become louder and more forced. He'd seen Techno close himself off from other people, and had become one of the few people the man would be himself around.

It was painful watching their metamorphosis, how they cocooned themselves in loss. 

Coleman himself had begun taking cases again, but he'd assured them that he was still working with them. He knew they needed the support of having someone other than themselves looking for Wilbur.

It was terrifying how efficient Phil had become, going out on patrols alone now. He could see why, the man was paranoid that something similar would happen to his other sons, Techno's incident simply seemed like a cover story as to why he stopped letting them tag along. Tommy and Techno were his only anchor, he supposed, pulling him back from his work so he could spend time with them. That was the only time the angel ever seemed to relax nowadays.

It was scary watching Tommy force his personality tenfold, how self destructive it was and how he never seemed to realize that fact. The teen wanted everyone else to laugh at his antics, wanted to gain back the familial chaos that came about when Phil's brunet son was around. Coleman was one of the few people that had seen the blonde's more mellow side in recent, only coming out around people he trusted. Even then he didn't do it often.

It was downright horrifying when Techno snapped. Before Phil had stopped them from coming on patrols, Techno had happened upon a kidnapping. And something inside of him had seemed to just click into place like it had always belonged there, but was simply dormant; resting. And then all at once it was awake. At least that's how the hybrid had claimed it felt. Coleman was the one to clean up the aftermath, and had pardoned the crime due to how many people they'd managed to rescue from the dead man's clutches that day (he wasn't growing attached). He'd been a slave trafficker, they'd found out. Coleman had managed to get the police off of the killer's trail, and Phil had been grateful beyond words. That was the day Phil stopped letting the two out on patrol.

He wanted to do much more for the three than he currently could. 

So for now, he'd keep on the lookout for any cases, supernatural or not, that could have any connections to Wilbur Soot. At this point that was the most he could manage.

* * *

Wilbur had messed up Wilbur had messed up Wilbur had messed up- so much careful planning down the drain all because he wasn't cautious enough-

No, no it could still be salvaged, still be done, he just couldn't stall any longer. 

He'd been so stupid, grown too comfortable in his safe places and forgotten to check around for whoever was watching. He should've noticed her glance at his phone sooner. It was only a matter of time before she figured out that something was up. Homeless street rats didn't research about something so expensive just for fun.

He'd seen the observant glint in her eyes, knew she wasn't ignorant. She wasn't someone he could trust to just brush it off as simple fascination.

His only saving grace was that no one would be able to figure out who he was targeting. If anyone knew what he was planning with the Obsidian, they'd only be able to narrow down the list.

Maybe he was simply being paranoid. No one would take him seriously. How would some nobody break into a heavily guarded building, steal some of the most expensive items held there, and get away with it? But that didn't matter. If anything, it worked as motivation to get him going, a twinge of paranoia to get the plan into motion. If he had been waiting for some sort of sign (he wasn't, he didn't want to give it all up-), than this was it. 

He hefted his bag up onto his shoulders, guitar tucked safely in it's case as it was wedged between his back and the bag. He turned to the library that he'd spent the past hour in, smiled and waved to the librarian, and then he was gone. And he wouldn't be seen there again. Maybe the kind lady who'd let him hang out in the library would be worried for him. Maybe the woman who'd seen his research would find it suspicious.

Maybe the thugs on the street that he'd taken the alleyway from would come back for revenge and find it abandoned, maybe the stray cat the next block over would stop making the trip to his temporary home once it realized he was gone.

Wilbur found himself not caring all that much.

( _Lie lie lie it's a lie it's a dirty dirty lie-_ )

( _He would miss the librarian's smile, twinged with worry but never pity when he came in with bruises and cuts. He'd miss the triumphant adrenaline that coursed through him when he chased the thugs off of their own land for the second time that week. He'd miss the brown tabby cat that had taken a liking to him, purring whenever she located him in all of his fallen glory._ )

( _If he told himself he didn't it wouldn't change that he did._ )

It was an hour's journey from District B to District A, and in that time it was entirely possible that someone could have been informed of his plans. District A was close enough to the Shopping District that if Phil caught wind of a potential heist, he may bring Techno and Tommy with him to scout out the situation. But it was a risk he had to take.

He'd have to be able to face them if it came to that, because he wasn't Wilbur Soot.

Just because he knew how they thought and how they fought didn't make him Wilbur Soot. Just because he knew their weaknesses and their strengths didn't make him Wilbur Soot.

Knowing how warm Techno was whenever they shared a bed, how caring Tommy could be past his chaotic nature, knowing how Phil cared enough to fall from heaven for his sons, that was what made him Wilbur Soot. But those wouldn't matter if it came down to a confrontation between them and a stranger. 

So if he saw them, he wasn't Wilbur Soot.

( _In his eyes or theirs he didn't know couldn't know didn't know if he'd break if they forgot him-_ )

( _When they forgot him when they forgot him, they had to forget him if they all wanted to move on-_ )

Wilbur kept his feet from dragging as he walked on, tried to keep his head above the torrent of thoughts that rolled through his mind. He let himself think over everything he was leaving behind, one way or another. Either he'd arrive safe and sound in the Otherworld, or he'd die for good.

There was nothing else he could do now but hope the first option was what would happen.

* * *

"What?"

The incredulous tone Detective Coleman used almost instantly caught Phil's attention. The man had excused himself from their conversation not even a minute prior in order to accept a phone call from his employers, and from his expression, it wasn't anything good.

The dark ringlets under his eyes no longer seemed to bother him anymore as he looked at the Detective, trying to gauge the severity of the conversation. 

"I'll be over as fast as I can, you can give me the details on scene." Coleman ends the call, and suddenly he's facing Phil with an expression he can't quite place.

"Phil, think I can hitch a ride?"

And who is Phil if not someone to turn to for help?

"Where do you need to go," and with that the deal is settled, and both of them know it's more than just general friendship that leaks its way into the offer of transport. Because in the supernatural side of the city, the second you're involved in a case, you're practically linked to it. General friendship would never be enough to willingly involve oneself in a case that would otherwise entail no connection to you.

Phil hopes the offer speaks of the apologies and gratitude he could never verbally express.

* * *

Phil stood silently as Coleman watched the fire trucks attempt to put an end to the raging inferno that devoured the mansion from the inside out. 

_Burning, burning_

He could hear the faintest of whispers echoing around his head, and it was disorienting for a moment as he tried to pinpoint where the voices came from.

_Man made, unnatural, malicious, consuming consuming consuming_

Fire sprites, he decided, and watched as they came into his view at the thought. They danced around the pair, murmuring their say on the destruction. Phil himself wasn't one to talk to sprites, their presence fleeting in his awareness, and the only reason he was inherently familiar with them was because of Techno. They flocked around him, something he claimed happened to anyone under the loyalty of a patron god. He'd gotten used to calming the hybrid after they became too much, too violent.

_Deliberate, thief thief, distraction_

The whispers grew fainter as his mind pushed their existence out of his knowledge, left only with the information they'd given. 

He kept his gaze on his companion, on the way he'd stilled when the information popped into Phil's head. It takes a moment before he can correct himself. It was Sprites. He recognized the feeling. He never seemed to remember naturally when he'd been in their presence, and it had taken him a few years to get used to their secretive existence. 

"A distraction," Coleman spoke up softly, eyes unfocused as he repeated the message Phil had heard only moments prior. "The fire was a distraction."

That would explain why they'd talked to him as well. He'd grown attuned to their magic enough to sense whenever they were speaking to someone in close proximity. He'd forget they were there of course, since the messages were never meant for him, but he always retained the knowledge of what had been said.

"If that's the case than we don't have time to stand around, keep your eyes peeled for anyone you don't recognize." He took hold of the small situation they'd found themselves in. 

Making sure no one was looking, he spread his wings and flew up, perching in a nearby tree for a better view. There was still the bustle of activity by the building, the flashing lights casting afterimages behind his eyes whenever he closed them. He glanced away. The people on scene would notice a stranger on the grounds and bring him in for questioning, so the thief would most likely avoid the epicenter of the commotion.

The briefest glimpse of yellow among the green of the surroundings caught hold of his attention. 

He supposed it could be one of the first responders checking out the surrounding area, but something about that explanation rubbed wrong on his nerves. Maybe it was because the colour didn't match that of any of the other people on scene, or maybe because they'd all be busy tending to the flame. Maybe it was the fact that anything they'd need was in the opposite direction. 

Or maybe it was because he was on guard, looking for a stranger who'd apparently started a fire to cover their thieving hands. 

(Maybe it was because he still held onto that spark of hope that his son was nearby, waiting to be saved.)

He catches another glimpse of the person, and he snaps a picture as quick as he can. Before he can do anything else, the figure is gone. He looks down at his phone, confirming that he'd captured the person on image instead of just a blur of yellow and green before ducking down from the tree.

He glances around briefly, locating the detective before heading over.

"Coleman," he calls out, and startles briefly when all attention turns to him. He brushes it off before stopping beside the man. The detective lets out a small hum of inquiry, and Phil hands his phone over; image still on the screen.

"Spotted them in the forest, don't know where they've gone now. Look familiar to you at all?" The question isn't so much of _do you know who this is_ as it is a _is it someone here_. 

"No, they don't look familiar. Good eye, I think we've got our suspect. I'll send it to my partner and see if she can identify them."

He gives a nod before texting the image to the detective. "Need me to wait here to give you a ride back?" He wouldn't mind waiting, but he'd promised Techno and Tommy that he'd be back by twelve at the latest, and they'd worry if he had to push that back further. He didn't want to leave them home alone for too much longer anyway.

"Your sons would probably kill me if I kept you out late for even a minute," Coleman chuckled, "you should probably head back. I'll have my partner pick me up."

"I suppose so," Phil agreed, humored by the thought. "I'll go and keep them from committing murder, don't worry." The _again_ went unspoken.

He parted ways with polite goodbyes before heading back to the car. Coleman would keep him updated on the situation.

* * *

Wilbur's breath was caught in his chest, adrenaline spiking high. He'd done it. He'd gotten the Otherworld Obsidian he needed, and hadn't even died in the process. The fire was still raging behind him.

There was a sliver of paranoia in his form, however. 

He'd caught a glance of a familiar figure among the trees, perched upon a branch to act as a vantage point. Phil, his father, had been there.

He didn't know if the man had spotted him, and if he did, if Phil had recognized him. Phil had passed by him before like this in the shopping district, but there he had the cover of a crowd. The anonymity of belonging. He didn't belong here, in a forest, running away from a burning manor.

If they hadn't connected this persona to Wilbur yet, they would soon. They knew his appearance had changed, he figured they'd found the credit card, so all they needed to do was connect this nameless person to the one who'd fallen off of the grid four months ago. The similarities were glaringly obvious, no matter how much he tried to hide it. There would come a point where he'd slip up, do something or say something only Wilbur Soot would. 

He wondered what would come first. Them finding out he was Wilbur, or him getting to the Otherworld.

It was only a matter of time before he'd find out.

Both would be happening soon.

* * *

Chamomile tea scented the air as he wordlessly looks across the small table at Coleman until the small bout of silence is broken by an awkward cough from Techno. From beside the young adult, Tommy nudges his brother in what Phil can only presume is an attempt to get under his skin.

"So, we've managed to pinpoint what the thief was after," Coleman begins after a few more seconds of tense silence, "and I'm a bit conflicted."

Phil hums softly, and motions for Coleman to continue.

"The thief was after Otherworld Obsidian, and there are two possible reasons why." The man exhales before continuing. "Either they targeted it because it's valuable, or they're planning on going to the Otherworld."

Techno raises a brow. "How would that work?" Phil could hear the hopeful air in his words, no matter how subtle it was. It was no secret that Techno had been interested in seeing the place at least half of him came from, so having new information on how to get there would definitely be something he was interested in.

"It happened in one of my previous cases, one of the teens we were pursuing had a frame of Otherworld Obsidian and the inside was filled with some sort of purple haze. They stepped through and were just.. gone. The other splashed water on it and the haze shattered, so we couldn't follow them through. We've tried recreating it a few times but each attempt has failed."

"The one we did manage to catch ended up slipping and saying that it lead to the Otherworld, but kept their mouth shut tight on how to make it." Coleman presses his palm to his head.

"I _could_ just ask a contact about the whole situation, and that's where the problem lies."

Coleman pauses, and Phil wordlessly prompts for further explanation.

"That contact would be the teen that destroyed the portal. The thing is though, he's human, and despite having been exposed to it, doesn't know about the supernatural side of the city. Not to mention, he isn't too fond of me either. But he knows more about this than I do, I just don't know if he'll.. cooperate."

Phil considers the situation for a moment. "It would be hard, but if he knows about the Otherworld but not the supernatural, it's possible to work around a conversation without revealing too much. So I'd say just go for it. If he doesn't know either it's better than not asking at all." 

Coleman nods. "That's what I was thinking too, I just needed a second opinion to be sure."

Techno interrupts the conversation. "Hey Phil, that picture you showed me of the thief?"

"What about it?"

"I remember why he looks familiar now. We passed him in the shopping district a couple times while looking for.. yeah."

The mood dampens briefly before Coleman continues with that train of thought. "Now that you mention it, I did see him around. From what I could tell, he was avoiding us while we looked around." He blinks before paling substantially. 

"Phil," he starts, "Phil I saw him enter the alleyway we found Wilbur's credit card in."

In an instant, the atmosphere becomes stifling, drowning out any prior sense of relaxation. To each of them, the urgency of finding the thief has shot up the ranks tenfold. 

"I'll go see if this is related to the Otherworld or not," Coleman speaks up. He appreciates it, because Phil knows that if this is related to the Otherworld, they're on a timer. Since if that's where they're taking Wilbur, than they can't follow. He nods briefly and watches as Coleman leaves.

And with what, all they can do is wait.

* * *

Coleman watches as the lanky black haired teen walks into the room with a scowl. The white t-shirt contrasts against the long black sleeves poking out from underneath. A white bandana wraps itself around his head, keeping the hair out of his face.

"So mister detective man, whaddya want from me? I thought you gave up asking about that shit months ago."

He'd given the teen a quick briefing on what he was needed for when they'd called him in. Despite no longer being considered a criminal after most of the situation had come to light, he was still under police watch and was required to stop by when requested.

"A new situation has come up, and I need to know if it's related or not." He went straight to the point; there was no time to waste. If this really was related to Wilbur Soot than they needed to act fast.

"New situation?" The incredulous inquiry didn't slip past undetected.

"Yes. Recently a mansion burnt down and once the flames were put out it was found that there was an abundance of Otherworld Obsidian missing. We've also potentially linked this to a missing persons case." He explained the situation in brevity, skipping past any unneeded details. The teen was still a civilian, no matter how odd his situation may be, so he couldn't learn of anything too private. Or anything to do with the supernatural.

"So you're basically saying that you think whoever stole the Obsidian is going to use it to go to the Otherworld." There was a vague lilt of amusement to his tone. "You don't understand. Only me and Dream should know of how to build that thing, so I'm pretty sure it's just some petty theft. The stuff is pretty expensive, isn't it? Seems enticing for someone looking to make it big."

Coleman rose a brow. "One second, kid," there's a brief interruption of his words as the teen protests the usage of the word, but he ignores it. "You're saying that only you and your friend know how to make it?"

The ravenet scoffs slightly. "Cats outta the bag, yippee, good on you. Yeah, only me and him know how to make it except for the dude who taught us. But not even he remembers how to make it, just gave us a-" there's a pause.

" _Oh_."

Coleman can see when the teen realizes that his theory is entirely plausible.

"Oh?" he prompts, because even if he can tell when he realizes something, it doesn't mean he can tell what caused the realization.

"The.. goddamnit, the note! I should've gotten rid of it!" The teen crosses his arms against his chest, an even tighter scowl resting on his face.

A note, huh. 

There's a beat of silence before the ravenet speaks again, voice serious. 

"Coleman, I need you to do me a favour. In return, I can let you know if your mystery thief is planning to go to the Otherworld or not."

Coleman's willing to do almost anything for that information, and he almost voices that fact. "It depends on what the favour is," he says instead, because there's a possibility the kid will ask for something outrageous and he needs to be responsible in this situation.

"I need you to let me go to the library, downtown." The teen pauses, and Coleman knows there's a catch. "And I need to go without police monitoring of any kind."

There's a race of thoughts tumbling through his head as he tries to orient his knowledge on the situation enough to formulate a suitable response.

It shouldn't be hard to do something on such a small scale, but it doesn't sit right with him. The location is too specific to mean nothing, and without police monitoring they wouldn't be able to know if he did anything suspicious. It was after he'd mentioned a note as well, which seemed to house information on how to get to the Otherworld, something that the teen clearly did not want them to know. If it was still there and he destroyed it, their chance would be gone.

He can't tell wether the kid's just giving a shot in the dark, or he truly knows what lengths Coleman will go to in order to get the information on the thief's motives.

"I'll try and see if I can get it done," he says, instead of voicing his thoughts. 

Sapnap nods, and that's that.

* * *

Sapnap finds himself outside of the public library. That in itself wouldn't be all too remarkable, but for the first time in what, seven months? He's not under police supervision. Sure, Coleman's there acting as a chaperone, but he'd pestered the man into staying outside while he looked around.

Stepping inside, he can recall clearly when Dream had whispered to him where he'd hid the note all those months ago. And suddenly, the moment seems both seconds and lifetimes away. 

He makes his way through the shelves, running a finger through the dust that had gathered after who knows how many years. 

He stops when he comes to a certain book, and he realizes that it's been disturbed more recently than seven months ago. That's the first tell. He takes it off the shelf and skims through the pages. He can remember the exact numbers Dream had placed the paper between.

He fully opens the page, eyes briefly scanning the contents. 

Sapnap can feel his heart drop when he realizes that the slip of paper is no longer there.

The one thing he'd promised himself he would do, and that could all be ruined. Just because he'd forgotten about the one thing that had gotten them through their journey. Now someone had it, and that someone could be anyone. Anyone that could find Dream.

He knows he needs to get that note before anything like that could happen. 

He exhales before closing the book, reaching out to put it back on the shelf before pausing. Sentimentality grabs hold of his limbs and freezes them in place.

With a moment more of hesitation at his choice, he tucks the book to his chest and checks it out with his library pass.

He walks outside back into the open air, out into the suffocating surveillance that they claim is to keep him safe. He doesn't doubt them when they say that.

"Hey mister detective," he calls out, even if he knows Coleman's name. He'd known the man long enough to be on a first name basis with him, but he'd always preferred getting under his skin the most he possibly could. "Where was the thief's last known location? Other than the crime scene I mean."

"And why do you need to know this?" The suspicion in the man's voice is almost palpable, and Sapnap can't blame him. He wouldn't trust himself either.

"Because I'm pretty sure I have your answer but I'm gonna need a bit more information." The lie slips past easily. It doesn't need to be believable, because he's seen how dedicated Coleman is to this. He'd let him look for a note without supervision under the impression that he'd destroy it the first chance he got, despite it containing valuable information. He isn't quite sure why Coleman's so invested in this, because if he were after the information on the portal he'd just search the library himself. So despite what the man is trying to lead him to believe, Sapnap knows this isn't just about Dream.

And he knows this when Coleman simply exhales. "District B, one of the libraries in the downtown. I can take you there."

He can tell Coleman doesn't trust him. Doesn't believe the lie in the slightest.

But he can also tell the exact moment when Coleman decides to take the risk and follow along anyway.

And Sapnap isn't quite sure how to feel about it.

* * *

Going inside this building feels strange. The first library was familiar, a place where secrets were whispered under the calm of night and the pitter of rain. It's a place he couldn't forget if he tried.

This feels more like disturbing a sanctuary. 

He can tell just by a glance that books aren't the only reason people come here. There are towels neatly stacked and folded on a table by the entryway, and there seem to be more couches than chairs. There's a bin of umbrellas with a small sign leaned against it that simply says _take if you need_ and there already seem to be a few missing. 

Sapnap knows the tells of a place where runaways were welcomed. He'd had to learn it quick after he'd run off himself.

Those same tells mean nothing to those who haven't had the desperate need to learn them. 

He isn't quite sure if Coleman recognizes it or not. He'd certainly dealt with runaways before (would've had to, him and Dream would have been a pain to deal with otherwise), and the man was observant, but it isn't something you really pick up on unless it's dire. And even then it can still take time.

He doesn't mention it.

He picks his way past the maze of bookshelves (compact, easy to get lost in, he's sure he sees plenty of hiding spots as well), idling his way up to the front desk. 

The librarian is an older woman, around mid forties he'd presume. Her hair is greying slightly and is done up in a loose bun to keep any stray pieces out of her eyes. 

"Hello," he calls out, making sure to keep his voice on its teenager pitch. 

She looks up and returns the greeting with a smile. "Hello there, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Actually, yes! I've been looking for someone. Red beanie, yellow sweater.. sound familiar at all?" He sticks to the vague description Coleman had given him on the way. 

"I don't think I have, I'm sorry dear."

Sapnap knows this is a lie, seeing as this was the thief's last known civilian location. He also knows that the public doesn't know that this person is a thief. He knows that this library is a shelter for runaways. 

He knows this, and takes a calculated gamble. 

"Please," he lowers his voice, because he knows that Coleman is listening in from nearby. "I got off the streets a few months ago, and now that I'm financially stable, I want to help out the person who helped me the most. I thought checking here would be the best bet because I saw the signs of a safe place."

He sees the instant the woman believes his lie. 

"Oh! I see. Well, he sometimes stops by here whenever it rains or the nights are particularly cold, but I think he takes up residence in one of the nearby alleyways. The one just down the street to the left?" Fondness decorates her face, and for a moment, he wonders what would have happened if him and Dream had taken refuge here instead. "He's such a sweet boy, I hope he accepts the help."

He smiles, and takes note of the information. "Thank you so much, ma'am."

"No, thank you. If you ever need help, don't hesitate to reach out."

He nods, smile not leaving his face until he turns away. He walks past Coleman without a word, exiting the library and leaning his back against the bricks while he waits for the man to follow. 

The instant the detective pops out of the door, Sapnap is walking towards him. "I have a new location, c'mon."

Coleman, although Sapnap could have been leading him on the wildest goose chase ever, simply nods with a sigh. 

And with that, they're off.

* * *

When they reach the alleyway, they're immediately confronted by two men. They look like tryhards if he's honest, like they're trying to threaten anyone away just by looking scary. They probably wouldn't have to try too hard to manage that. One glance at their faces will have people running for the hills, of which there probably aren't any for miles. Saying that they're ugly would almost be a compliment.

It's clear that him and Coleman aren't welcomed there the moment one of the delinquent wannabes draws a knife, but Sapnap isn't too worried. It's almost fun watching them stumble through excuses and explanations when Coleman pulls out his gun.

"So boys," he begins, and watches as their attention shifts to him for a split second. "We're looking for someone. Red beanie and yellow sweater ring any bells?"

One of them barks out a laugh, though there's an undertone of nervousness to it. Sapnap reasons that it's probably from the gun that's still being pointed at them, but he notes it down anyway. 

"That kid? Who'd he piss off this time?" The amount of contempt laced in the guy's words is almost amusing.

"Well, he's currently a wanted criminal, so if you have any information I implore you to speak up." As he says this, he flickers a look over to Coleman's gun obviously enough that the two follow his gaze.

"Alright, alright man, just-" The one who'd spoken up shifts nervously, eyes flitting around the area. He cleared his throat before beginning.

"Guy's a good fighter, I'll give him that much- but he never seemed to particularly.. enjoy violence. First time he knocked one of us out I saw him puke while I trying to drag this lump back home. He came outta nowhere and overtook this alleyway, but he hasn't been back for about two days."

The other one pipes up after the first ends his short explanation. "He had a soft spot for the brown tabby that roams around here, fed the thing every day without fail. Dunno why, guess he just needed the companionship. Kid was alone out here."

Sapnap latches onto this. "He was alone?"

The first one nods and takes over again. "Yeah. He went to the library whenever the weather was shit, but he didn't ever seem to talk to anyone there other than the occasional thank you. Acted like he was just a meek kid or somethin'."

"How old do you reckon he was?" Sapnap asks, but he's pretty sure he has a good estimate. From the things he's piecing together he already has a good mental profile of this person.

"Sixteen? Seventeen? Late teens, at least." The guy gives a small shrug. Sapnap assumes they never quite had the civility for small talk between the turf fights.

He glances over to Coleman in a silent question. The man doesn't speak up, so Sapnap ends the unofficial interrogation. "Well, I think we have enough info." He says this more to the detective rather than the two, but the don't seem to notice. "Maybe we'll let you off the hook for threatening us with a knife if you get your act together." Now this is most certainly addressed to the two thugs, and they nod frantically.

He turns around before heading back out of the alleyway. He trusts that he's scared the two enough that they won't try anything while his back is turned, and Coleman is quite a good pest deterrent. 

When they're eventually back in Coleman's car, Sapnap lets out a sigh.

"Coleman, I'm confused." He watches as the man reaches for the ignition before pausing.

"How so?" He can hear the impatience in the air, how it melds into Coleman's frame like it had always belonged there. The man is looking for the answer that Sapnap isn't sure he even has now.

He used to have the answer. He thought he did. As if it were an indisputable fact. Because the note was gone, the one thing someone could find to figure out how to get to what was supposed to be their safe haven, their safety.

But now he just wonders.

"Coleman, I really don't know how to explain this other than just spitting it out. Whatever assumption you've made about the case, it's wrong." He breathes in, and narrows his eyes when the man opens his mouth to refute.

"What I'm hearing from you is that this person you're chasing has ties to a missing persons case," he isn't dumb. He knows the missing persons case is the real target of this goose chase, because in any other situation, Coleman would have prioritized that note. The note he'd so stupidly forgotten and remembered at the worst time. He continues. "And that they're planning on taking this missing person to the Otherworld where you can't get to them." He likes to assume that he knows the man enough to be able to predict his thought process relatively well.

Coleman nods, starting up the engine, and Sapnap knows he's hit the mark. "We've linked the two cases, yes."

"Well I'm pretty sure you've made some sort of miscalculation." As he says this, Coleman shifts his attention from getting the car running to the newly budding conversation. 

He presses on before the man can get a word in. "Because from what I've seen, yes, the note is gone. That makes it perfectly plausible that this mystery thief is going to the Otherworld." He still wants to throttle himself for that, but what's done is done. Or more like what isn't done isn't done. Doesn't have the same ring to it though. 

"So-" Coleman starts, but Sapnap is on a roll and he's pretty sure if he doesn't get all of this out, Coleman is going to impulsively chase another runaway to the ends of the earth. 

So he continues. 

"But from what else I've gathered, this thief is in his late teens, a runaway living out in an alleyway that hates fighting but does it anyway, and weren't social a day in their lives."

He exhales, and doesn't face the man.

He can't deny that with the time spent with Dream, his friend's paranoia of adults had rubbed off on him in these sort of situations. It was hard for it not to, not when every one they saw seemed to be against them.

He'd spoken up against Coleman, and even though they'd spent months building some semblance of trust with one another, it was still hard to remember that the detective wouldn't yell over something like that. 

He knows Coleman had learnt his tells a while back. He said it was for his job. 

The man exhales. "Good input, kid. You have a point, I'll keep it in mind."

There's a pause. 

"You did good, you're getting better."

Sapnap wants to laugh. 

"All of you guys act like I'm the one with some sort of trauma when I'm not. That's _him_ , dealing with those shitheads you _still_ don't have enough evidence to arrest even though it's been seven months." He crosses his arms, and ignores the paranoia creeping under his skin that murmurs what if's like a mantra. Because he'd seen the way Coleman was strung tense the entire time they'd spend together, and part of him screams that if he isn't careful the caring front will let up. 

"God," he breathes out, and voices a different thought instead. "I miss him."

Any other day, Coleman would have probably told him that he'd be able to see him if he just told them how to build the portal. Or maybe not, it had been a while, he supposed. Maybe they were past that point. Maybe Coleman no longer cared about finding Dream. He doesn't know why that thought hurt, it's what he wants. 

But today isn't any other day. And Coleman's voice edges just above a whisper as his shoulders slump. 

"I know."

The car pulls out of the lot, and they're silent for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Coleman rested a palm on his forehead for a moment. 

He'd dropped Sapnap off at the kid's place earlier before heading off to Phil's house. He couldn't help but think the kid had a point, but if he did, their only lead on Wilbur would dry up.

So here he was. In Phil's driveway. Still in his car with the engine running.

He heaved a sigh before turning off the ignition, stepping out of the car.

He let his knuckles rap against the door. Phil had invited him to come over any time, but he'd called ahead in advance just in case. The man knew he was coming over. 

God, he didn't even know how to start this sort of conversation. 

_Hey Phil, just thought I'd drop by to tell you that our only lead may be a fluke and completely unrelated. Sorry about your son._

That would be a big no.

Techno opens the door and beckons him inside where Phil is waiting at the table. He assumes Tommy is somewhere deeper in the house causing mischief that they're bound to find out about sooner or later. 

He seats himself across from the blonde man, preparing himself to relay what he'd learnt.

"So," Phil starts, and Coleman shifts nervously. 

"So." He repeats, watching as Techno slips out of the room, hopefully to go grab Tommy. It would be best not to have to explain this twice.

He can tell Phil feels the same, so they wait.

They wait until they've moved to the living room, reclining in the much softer chairs. They wait until the tense atmosphere is lifted slightly thanks to Tommy's antics that begin the second the boy steps foot into the room. 

But they can't wait forever.

Which is how he finds himself in the middle of an explanation. "He said the note was gone, so the chances of this being a coincidence have lowered significantly. Though this was after he led me through the different places the thief was spotted before he targeted the mansion. Kid's good at getting information from people though."

"What info did you get?" Techno speaks up, half focused on the conversation and half focused on getting Tommy to stop fiddling with his braid. "Tommy- you're going to undo it, stop that." 

Tommy retorts with something that makes Phil and Coleman freeze, but Techno seems to take it in stride. "You always let Wilbur style it, what's wrong with me doing it, huh?"

"Because unlike you, Wilbur actually knows how to style hair, so let go before you end up making me go bald."

"You bitch! I obviously know how to style hair! Just look at how flawless mine is!" Tommy predictably argues techno's claims of him being lesser than his brother, like he always had.

"Tommy," Techno deadpans, "Phil does your hair."

Phil can't keep back his laughter at that, and Tommy, despite being insulted, joins in with the screeching laughter everyone's come to love. Even Techno can't hold back a small snicker, finally able to get Tommy to relinquish his hold on his braid.

Coleman himself laughs a bit before deciding to answer the question. "To answer your question, he got us the location of an alleyway from the librarian at district B's library, where we learnt a few things from two.. residents, that were quite willing to talk. Learned that he seemed to be around his late teens, lived in the alleyway, and seemed to be averse to violence despite partaking in it."

Tommy pauses. "Hey Techno, you saw the picture of the thief, right? Right?" He pokes his brother continuously while Techno tries his hardest to ignore the pestering.

"Yes, Tommy, you saw me look at it." He seems exasperated, but goes along with Tommy anyway.

"What colour was the thief's hair?" The question doesn't seem too important, but everyone knows that once Tommy gets started on something, it usually takes a lot of bribery to get him to stop. Phil doesn't seem to want to bother with something like that just yet, seeing as the questions were harmless. Despite how much Techno seemed to be silently begging for him to shift the child's attention elsewhere.

"Couldn't see very well. It looked black in the lighting, but it could be brown."

Tommy seems to have gathered enough information for his liking from that single question, and plops himself down on the coffee table despite Phil's protests.

"Okay peasants, watch and learn from the great detective TommyInnit," he declares, and Coleman isn't quite sure where the nickname came from. But if Techno and Phil's quiet snickering is anything to go by, it's a family thing. He's not entirely sure he wants the context.

"I am going to lay out a few facts and I want you to ponder on my conclusion before admitting that I am right, and have never been wrong in my entire life." The kid's talking fast enough that no one else can really get a word in.

"So, first things first, we all know Wilbur, right? Curly brown hair, lanky as shit, plays guitar, all that jazz?"

There's a unanimous nod.

"Well, Techno just said that the thief could have brown hair, so that checks out," he begins, and Coleman can already see where this is going. "He's sixteen, which matches up with what _you've_ told us," he points at Coleman, and it almost feels accusing. "And he doesn't like to fight. You know he's struggled with doing that self defence shit or whatever you were teaching him, and he told me he doesn't like hurting people." Coleman didn't know this, but he's sure that Phil and Techno did.

"So, am I genius or what?"

"Tommy," Phil begins, but Coleman cuts him off before he can lay down one of his _I know you want to find him but.._ spiels. The kid has a point, and it matches up with the inconsistencies Sapnap had pointed out.

"I think he may be onto something," he says, and he can feel when the attention of the room is back on him. Tommy just grins smugly.

"The teen I was with pointed out some oddities in our theory, and Tommy's idea covers most, if not all of them."

There’s a silence as what he said sinks in.

"If that's really Wilbur," Techno murmurs after the lull in conversation, "how many times have we passed him without realizing?"

Tommy folds in on himself, as if just realizing the weight of what his theory being correct means. "I don't know."

Phil straightens, and Coleman can feel the mix of anguish and hope that runs through him. “I don’t know either, but what this does mean is that we have a better lead on Wilbur.”

He knows the four months after the case had gone cold were hard on the entire family, so with a new lead, he hopes it’ll be the one to take them to Wilbur Soot. 

God knows they needed him back.

* * *

Wilbur would admit, it had taken quite a bit of time to set up the portal frame. He’d gathered quite a few cuts and scrapes for his troubles as well. He’d copied the diagram as best he could, but he’d had to give it supports. Unlike in the picture where the obsidian seemed to be attached, the Otherworld Obsidian he had was in cubes. He didn’t know how to connect them, but he hoped it wouldn’t matter.

All he had to do now was light it and step through, but that seemed too easy.

He didn’t want anyone following him through the portal. He’d done enough research on his own and with Techno to know that nobody really knew how to actually get to the Otherworld. They knew it was possible, just not how to do it. He didn’t even know if this portal thing would actually work.

Everything he was doing was a huge gamble, but it was one he was willing to take. If this failed, he could try a different method, and keep trying until something worked.

He just preferred having a decent plan of action, a set goal to work towards.

But he needed to figure out a way to destroy the portal after he’d gone through, something with a delay. Something he could feasibly obtain.

He didn’t know what all would work, but an idea skimmed the edge of his mind.

At one point, he, Tommy, Techno and Phil had raided a warehouse and ended up finding a hidden storage packed to the brim with explosives. They’d emptied it of course, but it had gotten cut short since they had to go deal with a Supernatural on the other side of the city, so they didn’t have the time to do a thorough after check. He’s pretty sure they’d have been too occupied trying to find his supposed kidnapper to think of checking it now.

He’s sure a blast would collapse the supports holding the portal frame together, and he’s almost certain that if the frame collapses, the portal would disappear.

With a few more minutes spent mulling over the idea, he hefts his bag back over his shoulders and opts to leave his guitar by the portal frame.

If the warehouse didn’t have any leftover explosives, he’d just have to find another way. But it didn’t hurt to check.

He just hopes this all goes to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, short explanation time.
> 
> Sorry for not updating for like a month, but burnout and writers block is like the worst possible combination. So as an apology, you get a long (8000 ish words) chapter to make up for it. It would’ve been longer but I had to cut some stuff out since it was taking too long to finish, lol.
> 
> I haven’t been twiddling my thumbs the entire time though, since act I is now fully plotted out, part of act II has been planned, and I’ve been going through the logistics of this au with a friend.
> 
> Excuses over, hope you liked the chapter!


	6. Act I: It Was Never Meant To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foster dog dragged my computer, monitor, keyboard and speakers off of my desk because he tripped on a cord. Also ended up breaking my drawing tablet. 
> 
> Computer is out of commission for now. Had to write and edit this on mobile, so.

Wilbur can't help but wonder what would happen if this didn't work. 

All of it was just a big shot in the dark anyway, a plan stemming from a secretive note addressed to someone that was certainly not him. And with his family potentially on his trail (he'd given up not referring to them as such), he had to face the possibilities of what he'd need to do to get away from them. 

The world is silent as he faces the padlocked wooden door. Beyond that door potentially lay bundles of explosives, his method of escape. The things he'd use to either blow up any last hope his family had of finding him, or himself. 

He isn't sure if he appreciates that thought or not.

He chooses not to dwell on it.

Wilbur takes one glance at the lock on the door before deciding that it wasn't worth the effort of trying to pick it. He was on a bit of a time crunch, because if anyone found the portal frame before he got back he'd be in big trouble. He didn't have the means to get any more Otherworld Obsidian.

He takes to shimmying open a lose window after pulling away the flimsy planks boarding it up. 

The interior isn't pretty, but over the months he'd been out on the streets for it's better than some of the places he'd camped out in. Well, that was before he'd settled down in a semi-permanent spot.

He's silent as he takes to doing a sweep of the place. It's familiar habit to fall into the familiar clockwork pattern of an after check, like he used to do whenever the four of them raided a building.

He once again humours the thought that this could all be a massive waste of time.

Maybe Phil had checked it out on his own instead of looking for him, maybe they'd stopped trying to find him after he'd run off. Maybe Phil didn't recognize him back at the mansion. Maybe they never looked for him in the first place beyond whatever mandatory investigation was ordered. Maybe they moved on with their lives like nothing had ever happened and didn't care. Maybe it was easier for them like that. 

His heart clenched. 

He reminded himself that them not searching for him was a best case scenario, and tried not to take comfort in the fact that he was positive it wasn't the case. It didn't work. 

He tried to focus on what he's doing, and not his rampant thoughts. That doesn't work either. 

It takes a good half hour for him to actually find the damn explosives, and at that point he's sure he could be a good substitute for one. He's wrung so uptight with anxiety it feels like he'll explode the second something goes wrong. 

And go wrong it does. Because nothing is simple anymore, it never was. If it was, he wouldn't be here in the first place. 

He presses his back against the wall as he slinks closer to the exit, explosives filled bag clutched desperately in clammy hands. He hopes beyond all hope that he can slip by the two silhouettes under the guise of the pitch black room. 

He freezes when one of them moves. 

It feels like an eternity as he watches their head turn towards him, like the universe was taunting him for being too slow. It's nerve wracking, and all too soon he can feel eyes staring straight at him. 

A strangled whisper tears itself out of the stranger's mouth, and Wilbur wants to wilt. 

"Wil..?"

Because of course it's Tommy. 

Because of course it's his little brother, the blonde chaos spirit that screamed his way into Wilbur's heart with the undertone of longing. Of course it had to be Tommy, the one he'd promised to protect and in turn had promised to protect him. 

Wilbur doesn't get much of a chance to ponder the implications of Tommy's presence before the second figure is whirling around at the utterance. 

And of course it's Techno. 

Of course it's his older brother as well, the one who'd saved him from dangerous situations so many times before. The one who was probably wondering why this time was different, wondering what went wrong. 

Of course it was the brothers he hadn't seen in months. 

He wants to cry. 

He hasn't cried since he was shivering out in the cold winters night the first time he'd slept without a home in who knows how many years. He hadn't cried since he mourned the death of the sixteen year old his family knew. 

He heaves in a shuddering gasp as his vision waters. "Tommy- oh my god.."

Reaper be damned, Otherworld be damned, potential _death_ be damned, he just wants to hug them right now. But his limbs are locked in place, serving as some sort of self preservation. Because he knows if he gives up now that he's so close he'll never make it out alive.

But he doesn't need to move.

He flinches as Tommy practically rockets forwards, slamming into him. For a terrifying moment his mind is filled with what-ifs and frantic thoughts as adrenaline is spiking through his veins, but he holds himself back from reflexively trying to knock him out because he'd rather face the wrath of the gods than hurt his brother.

He's standing stiff as Tommy wraps his arms around him, and it takes him a moment to register the fact that the blonde _isn't_ attacking him.

There's a sob falling past his lips before he can stop it, and he hugs Tommy back just as tight. He's sinking to his knees and bringing his brother down with him but neither of them seems to care about that because they're _here_ , they're _together_ and that thought should scare him but he's so overjoyed right now he could care less about what will happen later because later isn't now and right now he has his brother in a hug and he's sure they're both crying at this point.

But he can't relish in that euphoric feeling forever, because as Techno drops his phone onto the floor, he's sure his older brother has contacted Phil.

He almost looses grasp on his resolve as Techno wraps his arms around the two of them so much more gently than he ever remembers the hybrid being. But the whirlwind of emotions in his mind paves way for the inferno that began as a spark.

They were going to loose him no matter what in the end.

He'd rather live than die once it came to that.

It pains him to do so, but with a burst of frantic effort, Wilbur pulls away.

"Wilbur..?" Techno's inquiry makes him falter briefly.

And god does he just want to give up, relish the last time he had with his family and make them all feel whole again. But self preservation is a hard beast to slay, and so he backs up with shaky steps and stammers out a brief explanation.

"I can't- I can't go back, he'll kill me, please don't make me go back-"

A low, guttural growl fills the room as Techno processes the words.

"I swear on the name of my patron _nobody_ is going to hurt you again."

Wilbur hastily recalls the cover story he'd stuck with all this time. "I don't- I'm not supposed to _be_ here, Tech, I-" He pauses briefly as he composes his words. 

"I know how to get away, Tech. Nowhere here is safe, but if I can get through without him following.." He isn't sure if they know about what he's planning yet, but by the way they don't show anymore confusion after the vague sentence leads him to believe that they understand where he's trying to get to. 

And this is a fact he desperately needs to convince them of. 

Because if they try to stop him right now, he's not getting away a second time. There was always a reason he used deception to escape and confuse them. He'd never be able to face them straight on. He was built for human strengths, and those were lying and playing dirty, not sheer strength like Techno or magic like Tommy. 

"Wilbur we can _protect_ you," Techno stresses the word like it means something, and Wilbur is only growing more and more anxious as the clock keeps ticking. 

He reminds himself that the two don't understand that their version of protection would involve Phil, which wouldn't be protection at all. 

"He'll make himself someone you trust and respect, Techno, he won't be someone you can kill and be done with it." The explanation hurts, like he's sullying the name of his father. The thing is, though, none of this is an inherent lie. 

Sure, the truth was a little bit bent, but at its fundamentals everything he said wouldn't ever be picked up on by a lie detector. Phil _is_ someone they trust. Techno wouldn't kill Phil given the chance. And Phil _would_ kill Wilbur given the chance. 

"I'm _sorry_ ," Wilbur breathes out the apology so lightly that he's not even sure the two heard it. "I'm sorry," he repeats, just to make sure they had. "I love you."

And that's not a lie either. 

In fact, it's the most truthful sentence he'd said during the entire encounter. 

Then, he turns tail and _sprints_ , bag full of explosives clutched close to his chest as he sprints away from his brothers. He'd always had good endurance and speed, though not enough to outrun his brothers for too long. He just needed the head start that came from their shock. 

He takes a quick gamble and hopes they used the door, because he doesn't quite have the athleticism to launch himself out of a small window at the speed he's currently going at. 

He's only half aware of the way Tommy and Techno call his name as they register the fact that he's now running. It pains him to ignore their pleas for him to just come home, but he's so close now and breaking his resolve would cost him everything. 

His gamble pays off, and he sprints through the open doors and out into the streets. 

He knows that the two are chasing him. It's a deep seeded knowledge that comes from spending over half your life with someone. He knows they're not willing to give up on him. 

But he's not willing to give up on himself either, so he keeps running. 

Wilbur knows that they'll catch up soon enough, and he's glad he made precautions for a scenario like this. 

He rounds a corner and rips the beanie off of his head, turning it inside out in one smooth motion. The grey underside is enough of a change, and he slips it back over his hair. Months of relative uncleanliness pay off, and the grease in his hair acts as a great impromptu styling agent as he smooths out the curls as best he can. He ducks into a crowd and slips off the fake soles on his shoes, so the footprints his steps leave behind are different from the ones earlier. Finally, he takes off the sweater and shoves it into a separate pocket of the explosives filled bag and takes out the fake glasses and perches them on his face. 

And just like that, he's a brand new person.

He adds a slouch to his gait, and dons a cocky smirk. Sets his shoulders square. He's just an everyday delinquent now, someone who acts big but turns tail and runs at the first sign of danger. 

He isn't sure if his brothers saw the change or not, so he ducks out of the crowd to make it more obvious to tell if they're tailing him or not. 

He doesn't see the shock of pink hair he's accustomed to spotting, nor does he notice the chaotic presence that acts as Tommy's telltale sign. With an exhale, Wilbur starts back to the city outskirts, and forces himself not to react when he spots Phil rocketing over to the warehouse he'd left not minutes prior. 

They're not his problem anymore. Whoever he is now, doesn't know them.

* * *

Tommy could only stare out from the entrance of the warehouse, clutching Techno's sleeve as they waited for Phil. 

He couldn't..

He could still feel the absence in his arms from when he'd been hugging Wilbur barely a few minutes ago. It had felt so familiar to cling onto his brother again, despite how much thinner Wilbur had seemingly gotten. 

But he'd pulled away. 

Wilbur had pulled away from them when they had finally found him, when they could finally _help_. 

There was still blood smeared onto his shirt, small streaks of the substance staining the white fabric a faded shade of red. 

He exhaled as Phil landed in front of them, cutting off his thoughts. 

Without a second thought, he launched himself forwards to catch the man into a hug, one he knew wouldn't be pulled away from. 

"He ran," Techno muttered, answering the silent question that remained unspoken. "He said he wasn't safe and he _ran_ , Phil," his brother's voice hitched minutely. 

Techno exhales, and Tommy pulls away from Phil as a sudden realization worms it's way into his head. 

"Tech, Techno, Techno, Big Man," he prods at the hybrid side and addresses him rapid fire until he acknowledges him. 

"Yes, Tommy?" He still sounds out of it, and Tommy can't blame him in the slightest, but he'd just thought of the most genius idea. An idea that if it worked, they wouldn't have to be away from Wilbur for much longer. 

"How hard is it to track someone if they're bleeding?" He asks, and hopes that his brother catches on to what he's hinting at. 

"Relatively hard if you don't know what you're looking for, but it's poss..ib- Tommy are you implying what I think you're implying?" He can tell Techno's pinpointed the crux of his line of questioning, and he gestures to the faint bloodstains on his shirt. 

There's a determined glint in Techno's eyes now, a spark of hope that hadn't been there before. 

"We're gonna find him."

* * *

The reality of it all doesn't set in until he's stood back in front of the empty frame with explosives rigged beneath his feet. 

It's surprising how much you can learn online, including how to properly set up explosives. 

He holds up the lighter he'd bought for just this occasion, and hesitates. 

He breathes in, taking note of the stagnant city air that still reaches him despite being on the city outskirts. He wonders if he'll miss the smell, the heavy air that settles in his lungs like a weight. He wonders if he'll miss the feeling of home he gets whenever he turns a corner and his vision is filled with those same grey buildings bend after bend, seeing the shock of colour whenever someone didn't want the default tones. 

There are some things he wonders on. 

But there are other things he knows. 

He knows he'll miss Tommy. The blonde gremlin child that pestered him just as much as he loved him, that sought his approval time after time again. He knows he'll miss Techno, how he'll grumpily protest when Wilbur calls him half cat and not half unknown Otherworld creature simply because of how he acts in the mornings. 

He knows he'll miss Phil, despite the underlying terror he sometimes felt. It wasn't his father's fault he picked the worst choice to take into his family. Phil loved him just as much as he loved Techno and Tommy, but hunted him down unknowingly all the same. But Wilbur could never blame him, and could never not regret how things turned out. 

He knows this. He knows they'll miss him too. 

But he strikes the lighter aflame and presses it to the portal frame anyway. 

For a brief moment, he expects nothing to happen. For this all to be a gigantic waste of time and mourns the fact that faking his own death is starting to look like the only option. 

But then.

He jolts backwards as the first hints of purple wisp up from the flames, and drops the lighter onto the obsidian. It doesn't seem to matter that the flame should no longer be alight with the lack of pressure now on the button, as it stays lit anyway. He watches with fascination as the flame seems to.. corrupt. Purple dances up through the fire, casting the area around him in a hauntingly eerie hue. The fire seems to turn to liquid, dripping down from the lighter and spreading across the obsidian in a thin line from one side to the other, never straying from the exact middle of the frame. 

He can only stare at the impossible scenario before him as the purple flames begin to.. rise. They crawl up the sides of the portal frame before converting at the top. It all then begins to start creeping towards itself, spreading a thin sheen of the substance into the air until the entire frame is filled with the purple fire that no longer resembles anything like a flame. 

It begins to swirl, so subtly at first that Wilbur's eyes strain to register it. Small sections of the purple film begin to spiral, the pattern becoming more nauseating the longer he stares at it. 

It begins to emit sounds that both repulse and entrance him, the low bass pulse reverberating in the back of his skull making him think of the steady heartbeat of something.. ancient. 

Parts of it begin to seep away from the main portal, wisping upwards and dissipating in the air. For a vague moment he ponders on if it's some sort of noxious gas he's releasing into the surrounding area.

His second thought is that this is going to attract the attention of the people he'd been so desperately trying to escape. 

He clutches the detonator for the explosives in hand, and scans his surroundings. 

Sure enough, there's a brief flash of white overhead before Phil is there in front of him. 

Seeing him properly for the first time in four months, the man looks completely disheveled in a way that doesn't come from a single bad day. His wings look wildly unpreened. They're obviously still useable, but it still speaks volumes. Phil was always proud of his wings, and he'd often have them uncloaked around the house when they didn't have guests. He always kept them immaculate. 

"Don't come any closer!" He shouts out after regaining his voice. "There are explosives beneath this portal that _will_ go off." He makes sure his father can't see the detonator in his hand. 

This freezes Phil in his tracks. 

Wilbur isn't sure if it's the threat of being exploded, or the threat that he could potentially explode his son. 

He doesn't know why he waits. 

He knows Techno and Tommy are close behind, that they'll arrive soon. He knows that when they arrive, there's more of a chance they'll be able to get him away from the portal. 

Maybe he wants his final words to his brothers to be said to their faces, not as a message relayed by their father.

He isn't entirely sure. 

All he knows is that he waited in silence with Phil in front of him, too anxious of the explosives beneath their feet to come any closer, until Tommy, Techno, and a stranger he vaguely recognized arrived. 

He watches numbly as Phil keeps them all from coming any closer. 

He can't help the wry smile that stretches across his face at the bittersweet feeling of victory that's right in his grasp. And he's sure his spectators notice. 

He doesn't have a big speech lined up like people in the movies do. He doesn't have some heartfelt goodbye instantly running through his head. 

All he has is doubts and regrets, and an inferno of resolve that's slowly dimming to a spark the longer he stands there waiting for some sort of cue. 

"I'm sorry," he manages to get out, voice carrying across the small clearing. "For running. For lying."

He doesn't cry like he had just a few hours prior. His tears ducts are like a desert, desolate and waterless. 

He inhales, stares Phil in the eyes, and utters a single phrase. 

"It was never meant to be."

And he watches as Techno's eyes lock onto the detonator, just as his thumb presses down on the button. 

The world is a blur for a moment as Phil cries out, in surprise or anguish Wilbur can't tell. He drops the detonator and steps backwards into the portal. 

It feels like stepping into a waterfall without getting wet, the crushing weight of falling water weighing down on his shoulders. His vision spins in a sickening way that almost makes him rip himself from the portal's grasp. 

The sounds from the portal intensify and throw off his equilibrium as they ring through his ears, but as he starts to fall, the world around him grows eerily quiet. 

He doesn't get a chance to ponder this before he's sent rocketing away from the portal in an explosion of pain, and his head hits the ground with a sickening crack. 

The area that surrounds him now is not that of the clearing, but instead a hollow hellscape of oppressive heat and bubbling magma. 

And Wilbur lays silently on the scorching earth, heart stopped in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crud an update? It’s been forever-
> 
> I have no excuses this time other than getting stuck. Wrote half this chapter before deleting most of it and starting over. 
> 
> Either way, it’s out now. Wooo!
> 
> Not my proudest chapter, mostly because I had to brute force my way through it, but it was necessary.
> 
> One more chapter til’ Act II :)

**Author's Note:**

> Side note, this is my first time writing for the fandom so don’t hound on me if some characters are a bit ooc.
> 
> Also, this is just the first draft. Once the entire thing is done I’ll go back and edit it, and some details will probably change. I’ll leave the original up though.


End file.
